Shattered Truth
by Cravat of Doom
Summary: They thought it had been solved, but Phoenix was convinced that wasn't the case. When Kristoph hands him his diary, it was clear how much of the story remained in the dark.
1. Endless Questions

**Chapter 1 - Endless Questions**

"I'm going to ask you again, Gavin. Why?"

Kristoph just rubbed his temples.

"Seriously, Wright, why does it matter to you? I'm never going to be released from here, not unless I live to be 102. You've come here every Thursday for the past several months, and while I didn't mind your company at first, having the same conversation _every single time _has worn thin."

Phoenix felt like smacking the blonde. It was true, he _had _come here every week since Kristoph had been arrested for murdering Zak Gramarye - no, Shadi Smith, as he was so intent on putting it. He just wanted answers. Why did he kill that man? He knew it couldn't have been for such a pathetic reason as the one everyone else believed. No, it was something else. Some other secret still burned behind those mocking black Psyche-locks. Otherwise they wouldn't be there anymore.

What aggravated him further was the fact that Kristoph Gavin was still sane. Remotely, at least. Phoenix knew what had happened the day he had been called as a special witness hadn't been an act- the manic laughing, the screaming, and the crazy hair thing. But Kristoph acted like it had never happened, and nothing he ever said was incoherent. Had Gavin gone _completely _crazy, then there would be no reason for Phoenix to continue coming to visit. Answers were still possible, yet he was not getting them.

The Magatama he had received from Maya all those years ago was failing him. It didn't help at all; Gavin still avoided his questions, especially the ones that came close to the truth. It was like the man knew what Phoenix was doing with that little green charm in his pocket.

"So? Is that all?" the prisoner asked. He produced a bottle of nail polish from his pocket, and opened it.

"No."

Kristoph's hands were shaking as he dipped the brush back into the crystal bottle. It slipped from his hands and landed on his lap. The clear, overpriced liquid seeped through the blue fabric.

Swearing, he looked around for something to clean up the mess. Finding no tissues, he stood up and grabbed Phoenix's wool hat off his head.

"Hey-" Phoenix began. Kristoph cut him off, while wiping at the stain on his leg.

"Look, Wright, what do you want to know?" he asked, clearly frustrated.

Phoenix blinked. That certainly caught him off guard.

"I want to know why you killed Zak! I've only asked you about a hundred times."

"But that can't be it, can it?" Kristoph didn't even bother with the name correction this time.

"Huh?"

"I mean, I've told you why. But you've not accepted my answer."

Phoenix sighed. "It's obviously not the truth!"

"And why is that?"

"Because I know you, and you're-"

The prisoner cut him off again.

"Do you know me? Really? Or what I want you to see? That's why you're so easy to manipulate-- you take everything at face value."

Phoenix remained silent.

"Or could it be that something is telling you that I'm lying? Something that is, hmm, in your hand right now?"

Phoenix was holding the Magatama so tightly that he could feel his pulse through it.

"You... what are you implying?"

Kristoph stopped wiping at the nail polish, for it was clearly not coming out, and straightened himself up to full height. He was four inches taller than Phoenix, and slightly stronger, too. He grabbed the other man's hand and opened the fist.

"This."

The Magatama glowed slightly.

"A sad way to expose lies, don't you think?" he asked pointedly, grabbing the charm. "A good lawyer finds the inconsistencies himself, not relying on this." He stared at the shimmering glass for a moment, before muttering to himself:

"It would have been so much easier if I had this then..."

"Sorry?" Phoenix asked, heart pounding. He was getting somewhere. "I didn't quite catch that..."

Kristoph just smiled his trademark demonic smile and placed the charm back on his "friend's" palm.

Said friend stared at him.

"How do you know what this it, and what it does?"

Knowing he could make Phoenix do whatever he wanted to get answers, Kristoph decided to play with the other ex-attorney a little bit. He dodged the question about the Magatama.

"So?" he asked slyly. "You've asked me _plenty_ of questions, now I want to know exactly why you want to know."

Phoenix averted his eyes. There were three reasons why he wanted to know, none of which he felt like disclosing to the man trying to look him in the eye.

The first was plain curiosity. He had never encountered these strange Psyche-locks before, and wondered how a person could keep a secret buried that deeply. It must be important.

The second was that he owed it to Trucy. Kristoph murdered her father, for a reason he had yet to discover. One day, he wanted his daughter to know why everything happened. She never came right out and asked him, but Phoenix knew she often wondered. Trucy may have put on a brave face in front of everyone else, but he knew she wasn't content with Kristoph's reason, either.

And the third... Well, it kind of ashamed Phoenix a little, considering it was completely wrong and unfair to Trucy, but he had a sort of attraction to Kristoph.

He hated himself for it.

But these things can't really be helped, and though Gavin had made his life a living hell, first by removing his career, and second by ruining his daughter's life, he just couldn't truly hate him. Being a man of justice, he had to make sure that Kristoph was convicted of Enigmar's murder, but after that, he couldn't bear ill will towards the other man.

Kristoph just gazed intently at Phoenix during his dramatic internal battle, saying nothing.

Phoenix finally managed to shake his head.

"I don't owe you anything."

The blonde smirked.

"Then neither do I."

This was the sort of thing that frustrated Phoenix the most. The defiant attitude this guy had, the constant mind games. He could take anything you said and twist it, convincing you that he was right. Phoenix had often thought that Kristoph would have made a better prosecutor than a defense attorney. He'd even voiced this opinion several times, only to be brushed off with a shrug.

"I at least owe it to Trucy," Phoenix explained, choosing his second option. "She deserves to know why you took away her father."

"You're a better father anyway," Kristoph growled.

_That_ was out of character.

Kristoph came forward, and leaned over Phoenix's shoulder. For one foolish moment, Phoenix thought Gavin was going to put his arm around him. He mentally slapped himself.

Instead, Kristoph was reaching for a book, on the shelf behind Phoenix. It was a rather large book, one with a leather bound cover and thick paper.

He held the book carefully in his hands, and stared at Phoenix to the point where he'd wanted to hide.

Kristoph's resolve seemed to break. He looked quite exhausted.

"Will you _stop asking questions _if I just give you the damn answer?" asked the blonde.

Phoenix's eyes widened.

"Are you suggesting..."

"Yes. I'm just...so sick of it all..." he trailed off.

Phoenix placed his hand on the book Kristoph was holding out, but he couldn't take it.

"Umm...Let go?"

The man sighed, and released his grip. The creepy scar appeared on his right hand, making Phoenix stare for a few seconds.

"Go home. Read it alone. Don't let anyone else see its content." Kristoph stated these directions slowly, as if he was talking to a young child.

Phoenix lifted the cover of the book.

Ridiculously elegant handwriting covered the first page. A date was marked in the corner.

_August 5, 2009._

18 years ago.

Phoenix looked up.

"Kristoph, is this... your diary?"

But the other man had already blocked Phoenix out. He was sitting in his chair, with his head in his hands. For a moment, Phoenix didn't want to take the diary. It felt intrusive, even if it was the diary of a killer.

But he had worked hard for this, so he left Kristoph's cell, and ran outside to his car.

------------


	2. Misinterpretation

**Chapter 2 - Misinterpretation**

_I stand before the court, waiting. I already know the verdict, it would be impossible for the jurors to find Vera guilty. Yet I still hold my breath. You could never be sure._

_The bailiff walks in. Frank, I believe his name was. He looks me straight in the eye._

_"Not guilty," he says. _

_We all knew what that meant. _

_Me._

_I shake my head. What a joke. These people were not lawyers; therefore they have no right to practise law._

_I smile. I'm may be guilty, but the deed is still done. Shadi Enigmar is still dead. And that's all that matters._

_Dead._

_A laugh escapes my throat. I still won._

_The laugh grows louder, more manic. The court falls into silence, and they all turn to stare at the insane killer._

_Me._

_I continue laughing. They can't punish me, not really. My life is already over._

_When I finish, I open my eyes. Klavier is staring at me, with a look on his face that chases some sanity back to me. _

_What am I doing?_

_My vision blurs, and at first this confuses me._

_Tears?_

_Klavier is still, perfectly still, eyes glued to mine. He is truly afraid._

_And for the first time in a long time..._

_So am I._

----------

"Mr. Gavin, you have a visitor."

Another one? I'm more popular in prison than I was as a free man.

I look up from the book I was trying to read. Trying. I cannot retain any information, not since I gave Wright my diary.

It's Klavier.

Sadness, anger, and relief fight to become the main emotion. Not that I have any of those anymore.

"Hello, Klavier."

"Kristoph."

He stands there for a few moments. Then he rushes over and wraps his arms around me. I contemplate whether or not to return the favour.

I decide to, and when I embrace him, I feel something that brings back memories I have tried so desperately to bury.

Klavier can feel me tense, and he backs away.

I stand up.

"Klavier, have you been eating?"

He doesn't even blink. What a prosecutor.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Your ribs."

"What?"

I take a deep breath. I never wanted to return to this place, never wanted to have to greet these demons again.

"You know what I'm saying. _Have you been eating?" _I whisper angrily.

He still has the nerve to play dumb.

"I can feel your ribs, Klavier. Clearly, and through a leather jacket, too. Lift up your shirt."

He doesn't comply, so I go to do it for him.

Luckily for me, the guard chooses this moment to check on us.

_"What the hell are you doing?!"_

I calmly turn to face the obese mass of skin, to clarify. The people in here always expect the worst; always expect me to do something outrageous. I struggle to keep my composure. This particular guard has insulted me on a number of occasions, but not once have any of his exchanges actually affected me. Until now.

_"What were you trying to do, molest him? Are you alright, son?"_

As if. If anyone in the building was a perverted creep, it'd be him. And we're talking about a _prison_.

I wait for Klavier to deny the accusation.

Instead, he decides to take the opportunity to attack me.

"You were doing _what, _Kristoph!?" he shouts at me, eyes telling another story. But the guard buys it.

"Son, come on. You can go home now." He turns to me.

"I'll deal with you later."

Klavier walks hurriedly though the open door, down the hall. I get up and scream at him, something I rarely do.

_"KLAVIER GAVIN! YOU KNOW THAT'S NOT WHAT IT WAS! IF I FIND OUT THAT YOU'RE ANOREXIC AGAIN--"_

Klavier comes running back, and grabs on to the bars confining me to this room. He's sobbing.

"Or you'll what, Kristoph? Kill me? I managed to forget the first death, put it out of my mind. I told myself you weren't thinking clearly, that it wasn't supposed to happen. I even managed to forgive you." He has to pause and catch his breath. Tears stream down his face.

I wait patiently.

"But a second one? You're a murderer, Kristoph, and I can never forgive that. I can never think of you as who I once saw you as. A role model. My brother. Even a parental figure. But you don't even tell me why all of this happened! Herr Wright seems unconvinced, and he's normally right when it comes to these things. Don't you think I have a right to know why? What motives could you possibly have?!"

"Klavier, stay out of it. _Don't mess with things you don't understand_."

My younger brother glares at me. Then raises his fist and punches me in the face.

This catches me off guard, and I stumble backwards, hitting the table and bringing it down with me. I groan as something sharp pierces my back.

This scenario is all too familiar.

----------

_"Sir, I really don't think it's a good idea to leave a young girl at home for such a long period of time."_

_"Shut up, Gavin."_

_I am shoved into the wall. Items from the shelf once hanging above rain down upon me. _

_I almost black out when a rather heavy trophy hits me on the head. Grand Prix._

_"Get out. You're not needed anymore. Thank you for your services."_

_I doubted he was thankful at all._

----------

I snap out of the flashback as the guard hands me a paper cup. Klavier is gone.

"Here. It's time for your medication."

It's always the same, every day. They give me these little pills; tell me it'll make things better.

But pills can't make my past go away.

You see, if I wasn't here in jail, I'd be hospitalized. They think I'm mentally unsound.

_Am I?_

----------

Phoenix was shaking as he backed his car into the underground parking lot of his apartment. He could barely comprehend what had happened.

Answering a question was one thing, the thing Phoenix strived for, but giving somebody your diary was a completely different concept. It was unnecessary, to say the least. What good could possibly come from reading Kristoph's whole life, starting from when he was 15? Sure, Phoenix would find it fascinating, seeing every secret the man had bothered writing down, but it wouldn't be very productive as far as anybody else was concerned.

Unless...

As the lawyer-turned-pianist opened the door to greet his daughter, he had arrived at an interesting conclusion. Kristoph had met Zak Gramarye long before his encounter with him after the death of Magnifi Gramarye, the diary proved that fact. (Otherwise there would have been no need for him to give it up)... Which meant this whole mess was quite a bit older than 7 years.

Phoenix sighed. He never got the easy mysteries, did he? Just when he thought he was nearing the end, something like this was thrown in front of him. But that didn't matter now, because in his hand, he held the truth.

"What's wrong, Daddy? You don't look so well..." Trucy's smile faltered.

"Huh? Oh, nothing. It's been a long day. Why don't you run down to McDonald's, and get us something to eat... I think I'd better lay down for a little bit."

"Did your visit with Mr. Gavin go alright?" Trucy asked. She was too bright for her own good.

"Fine, it was fine. He's changed, though."

"Daddy, you know that he was just lying to you the whole time." By "the whole time", she meant the times in which Kristoph had acted as Phoenix's friend. Trucy had always been there with them, and even she had grown to like the charming attorney... until she had learned who he really was, and what he had done to her life. But even then, she did not regret her attitude towards Kristoph, because she knew her father had been happy.

"Yeah, but I... I miss what it used to be."

Kristoph may have stated that Phoenix's friendship towards him "was never pure", but he was wrong, in a sense. The pianist had always suspected Gavin's role in disbarring him, and perhaps it had shown, but he had truly enjoyed the time he had spent with him.

"It's not fair to anybody if you keep lying to yourself like this, you know. He doesn't see you in that light, so there's no reason you should, either."

Phoenix was floored.

"Wh...What did you say?" he asked, stunned.

"I know how you feel about him, Daddy." Trucy grinned. "You're not exactly the straightest person I know."

"Trucy, you're too honest." Phoenix said, looking away and feeling rather awkward.

"I know." And with that, she bounced out the door.

----------

_I know that Kristoph's point of view is in present tense, while the rest is in past. It's intentional._


	3. Shallow Attempts

**Chapter 3- Shallow Attempts**

_"Klavier, must you really copy me in all areas of your life? You'll never learn to become your own person if you keep trying to be like me."_

_"I always want to be like you, Krissi!" The eight year old Klavier beamed._

_Kristoph sighed._

_"Well, just remember that I'm not perfect. I can't always give you the answer to everything."_

_Klavier started to giggle._

_"So where do babies come from?"_

_"I'll tell you when you're older... Wait, why is that funny?" he asked suspiciously._

_"..." _

----------

"You really want it that short?"

"Cut it all off, please."

"If you say so, sir. But if you don't mind me asking, why? You've always stressed for me to keep it long."

"I really don't believe that's any of your concern, Lynn."

Klavier's hairdresser bit her lip, holding back tears. She had always been a very sensitive person.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to get mad; it's just... personal, alright? I need a change."

"Very well. Would you like me to do anything else?"

Klavier had contemplated dying his hair as well, but it was hard enough cutting it short.

"No, that'll be all."

The prosecutor stared at himself in the mirror. He looked so much like his brother that he could no longer stand it. It was hard to believe that there was a point in time where he had actually _tried _to act and look like the other Gavin... Then again, that was a time where Kristoph still had a _soul_.

He remained silent for the length of time that it took Lynn to cut his hair. When she was finished, the end result was... interesting.

"Do you like it?"

"It's very nice, Fraulein, thank you."

He paid her and left.

As soon as he was safely locked in his car, he swore loudly. The haircut was awful; it was uneven and choppy.

_Remind me never to go back there again._

When Klavier examined his haircut a bit more in his rear-view mirror, he realized he could never escape the unpleasant truth. He'd forever be like Kristoph. His future was set; he'd spend the rest of his life being compared to the man, whether he embraced that or tried to run away.

As he was driving home, his horrific haircut nearly caused an accident. As he drove through a roundabout, the other car completely stopped instead of yielding. Another car didn't see it, and almost drove straight into the back of the first car. Much to Klavier's annoyance, the driver in the first car was none other than Ema Skye.

She was laughing her head off.

He resisted the urge to give her the finger, deciding that it would not go well if there were cameras around (there were still tabloids after him, even though he was no longer a rock star). He was not, however, in the mood to put up with any crap. Normally, he would have tried flirting with her.

As he continued driving home (being careful not to let another driver see his hair), he thought about his childhood. It had been a relatively painful one, but that wasn't to be blamed on anyone but himself. Kristoph hadn't lied- Klavier _had _been anorexic. He'd like to say that it wasn't a big deal, but it was. It had been much harder on the elder Gavin than it had been on him. It was Kristoph who had raised him, after all.

He was never really sure of the details, as Kristoph never wanted to talk about it, but his parents weren't around. His mother was in jail...for killing his father.

It had never made any sense. He was too young to fully grasp what was going on at the time, but even then he knew that somebody wasn't playing by the rules. Whether it was one of the lawyers involved in the trial, the police, or a witness, he wasn't sure. Perhaps it was Kristoph, who simply never explained the story right.

He had a feeling, _an instinct_ that the murders Kristoph committed -or at the very least, one of them- had something to do with that incident.

YL-2, it had been labelled.

He'd looked for the case files, but they were all gone. Simply disappeared, they had told him.

Like a magic trick...

----------

"What do you mean no fries?" Trucy pouted. What good was a Big Mac without French fries to eat it with?

"Sorry, miss, but we ran out twenty minutes ago, and the supply truck isn't here yet. You'll have to do without." The man didn't even offer her a discount.

She stuck her tongue out at him, and turned to leave. When she stepped outside, the first thing she noticed was a rather shiny purple motorcycle. The second was a rather uneven and choppy haircut.

"Mr. Gavin?" she asked incredulously. "Your hair..."

He looked her way, sighing.

"Yes, I know it's pretty bad... But I'm still handsome, ja?" he chuckled, gripping a paper bag with a large golden "M" on it.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I was born that way. And I think I dress quite nicely, as-"

"No, I mean why did you cut your hair?" Trucy took a burger out of the grease-stained bag and opened it up. No ketchup.

Klavier wondered whether or not it would be suitable to tell the girl.

"Well, you see..."

"You don't want to look like your brother anymore. That's it, right?"

"..."

She was right.

"Well if you ask me, that's no way of doing it. Try getting a better hairdresser next time."

Klavier bit his lip.

"Um... Do you think it'd be alright if I go visit your father now, Fraulein?" he asked carefully.

"Sure! We're not doing much this evening, so I don't see why not." A devilish grin appeared on her face.

"Drive me home?" she asked.

----------

"Why do you have a car _and_ a motorcycle?" Trucy shouted through the wind, gripping on to the prosecutor's back. "Isn't one enough?"

"No. I was driving my car all day today, so I got bored. You need to mix things up every now and again."

"Daddy says motorcycles are terrible contraptions that should be illegal."

Klavier laughed.

"When he was still a lawyer, he and another prosecutor had an...incident with a motorcycle... And if he hates them so much, do you really think you should be on one?"

"Not really, no." Trucy said, as if just thinking about this for the first time.

She felt the bike slow down and stopping.

"Well then, we'd better not let him see." Klavier parked his "hog" behind a tree, a few meters away from the apartment building's door.

"Who was that other prosecutor?" she asked.

"Miles Edgeworth. He's in France right now, I believe."

"Oh."

The two climbed the stairs, for the elevator was out of order.

"Mr. Gavin?"

"Yes, Trucy?"

"What do you think about Polly?"

"Herr Forehead? He's alright. Why?"

"No reason." she giggled.

Klavier's face turned white.

Trucy opened the door to the apartment, revealing a Phoenix who was fast asleep with his head lying on the table.

"Daddy! I'm home! And I brought a visitor, too."

Phoenix's head jerked up.

"Wha..? Where's the fire?" he asked groggily, rubbing his eyes.

"Klavier's here!"

Phoenix immediately woke up.

"Hello, Klavier. What brings you here?" he asked, smiling politely, not saying anything about the hair.

But Klavier didn't answer. His focus seemed somewhere else, and he was staring very intently at the coffee table.

_Coffee table? Huh? _Phoenix thought, glancing over.

_Oh sh--_

Phoenix leaped up and glided over to the mahogany table, which Kristoph's diary was placed on. He swiftly grabbed it.

"Oh, heh, that's mine, heh heh. Better go put that away." He marched toward his bedroom.

The prosecutor grabbed his wrist.

"No, I've seen that before... That can't be yours," he said, voice shaking. He tried to take the book, but Phoenix held on tightly.

"I think you're mistaken. I've had this since I was little. I got it from...uh... my grandmother, and she got it...uh... in England!"

"You're a poor liar, Herr Wright; I think some of your courtroom skills have died. This is my brother's." Klavier tried to take it again, but Phoenix pushed him away.

"I think you should leave now, Klavier."

"Wright, give me the book. I'm his brother! At least let _me_ read it first."

"This isn't a library book, Klavier, and if he wanted you to read it, he would have given it to you. Now please leave."

Klavier's eyes widened, like he had just realized something. He smirked.

"Fine, you want it? Keep it. But you're not going to get any help from me."

_Help?_

"Um, alright. Do you want some tea?" Phoenix asked timidly, forgetting that he had tried to kick Klavier out of his house twice in the past ten seconds.

The smirk grew bigger.

"Sure, that would be nice."

Phoenix rooted around his drawers and eventually came up with a tea bag. Edgeworth had visited him a few weeks after he had been disbarred. He had been quite unhappy about his rival's unemployment, but even more upset about the fact that Phoenix used tea bags instead of tea leaves.

_Some people had strange priorities, didn't they_?

He eventually handed Klavier his tea, who drank it in one gulp. He stood up, thanked Phoenix for the tea, and quickly left.

"Daddy? Why do you have Kristoph's diary?" Trucy's voice was uneasy.

"He told me I could read it."

"That's a weird thing to do. You didn't take it or anything, right?"

"Of course not! What kind of a person do you think I am?!"

Trucy went off to watch television, leaving Phoenix alone in the kitchen. He decided this was a good a time as any, and picked up the diary.

It was pretty thick, and the entire thing looked written in. The leather was a deep green colour, and the pages were a dull grey.

He opened it up. The date he had seen in Kristoph's cell was there in the corner, but something seemed strange about the actual text.

_Wow, these words are awfully long. What kind of English did this guy speak when he was a teen?_

Phoenix gasped as he realized what it was, and what Klavier had meant when he said he wasn't going to help.

It wasn't English at all.

The entry was in German.

----------

_Because this is , I feel that it is not legally required for me to make a disclaimer. _


	4. Deutsch

**Chapter 4- Deutsch**

_"Klavier, please, just eat _something_!"_

_"I'm not hungry."_

_"No, you have to. The doctor said you were dangerously underweight."_

_"He's lying."_

_"Knock it off! Have you looked in a mirror lately? You're way too thin."_

_"It's none of your business."_

_"..."_

_"God, Kristoph, you don't have to hit me!"_

_"You don't have to act like an idiot. If you don't get food into you in the next ten minutes, I'm setting your guitar on fire."_

_"You wouldn't dare."_

_"I would."_

Phoenix screamed in frustration, causing Trucy to bolt into the room.

"What? What is it, Daddy? Why did you scream?"

Her father didn't reply; choosing instead to run out the door and down the hallway.

"Klavier!"

He quickly descended the stairs, nearly tripping and falling down the last flight.

_"Klavier!"_

Out the door, and into the parking lot where an angry prosecutor was fiddling with his motorcycle.

_Those things should be illegal._

"Klavier!" Phoenix called again.

He spun around.

"What." It sounded like a statement, not a question.

"You knew, didn't you?"

"That my brother is a lying bastard? Ja, I knew."

Phoenix sighed and opened Kristoph's diary to the first page.

"Now you're just mocking me."

"Klavier, it's in German, and you knew that. Please, I don't need you lying as well!"

"The date is in English." Klavier looked annoyed.

"Well, yeah, I suppose so. Who cares?"

"Don't you find that odd? Why would the date be in English?"

"I don't know. Maybe he was practising?" Phoenix didn't care about the date; he just wanted to get on to what was written in the actual entry.

"He was fluent in English by the time he was ten, Sherlock."

_Freaking genius kid._

"How the hell was I supposed to know that?"

Klavier managed to get his bike started, and he put his helmet on.

"Exactly. You don't know anything about him." He turned the key.

"No, don't drive away, I need your-"

Klavier was gone.

"...help."

Phoenix sat down on the pavement and stayed like that for a very long time.

Strangely, he knew multiple people who could speak (or so he assumed) German.

Edgeworth had to know, he lived in Germany for quite awhile. But the prosecutor was currently in France, doing who-knows-what, and probably didn't care that Phoenix wanted to read Kristoph's diary. Their breakup had been rather painful, so it was probably best not to bring somebody else's problems into the mess.

Franziska...No. Just no. He did not want to deal with her more than he had to. Besides, she wouldn't even know who Kristoph was, which meant she wouldn't care.

Lana Skye knew German, he was aware of that, but he had absolutely no idea where she was or what she was doing. Since she'd been fired as the Chief Prosecutor, he had heard rumours that she became a teacher in a foreign country, but those were just rumours. Anyway, he doubted she would be easy to contact.

Klavier didn't want to help, so that really only left one person. And that person owned the diary.

He resolved to visit again Kristoph in a week. In the meantime, he would use an online translator.

"Hey Trucy, can I have a few minutes on the computer? Surely you don't need to be on there _all day_."

"Yes, I do."

"What are you doing, anyway?"

"...Homework."

Phoenix sighed.

"That was an awfully long pause, Trucy. Please let me on." He opened the door to the TV room.

"Dear God! What are you doing?" Phoenix's vision faltered as he looked at the screen.

"I'm playing poker against people in Russia!"

"No! These things cost money, and it's not like real poker. You can't _perceive_ them..." Phoenix fell silent.

"What, Daddy?"

"Trucy... You've lost every single game you played. Three hundred and seventy six..."

"Oops. And I probably should tell you about this annoying thing that keeps popping up every few minutes... That thing, see?"

"That's a virus...What were you doing?"

Trucy took a deep breath.

"Well I was on Google the other day looking for walkthroughs for my new Mario game, when I saw an advertisement saying that I won a million dollars! So I clicked on it, because who doesn't want a million dollars? Then it directed me to this site about some weird medication and all these pop-ups came. They tricked me!"

"For such a smart girl, you're kind of... Slow, when it comes to computers, Trucy. Now I'll have to get someone to fix this... Please don't click on ads again, okay?"

"Alright. Sorry." Trucy walked away, looking deflated.

The virus was so prominent that Phoenix couldn't even get on to Google without creepy pop-ups attacking him. It got so bad that he had to close the blinds so that no one outside could see what was being displayed on his screen. He clicked on "More" by the Google logo, and the internet crashed.

_Why does life hate me so?_

Around thirty-some_ more_ pop-ups attacked his desktop again. Phoenix screamed and chucked the monitor at the wall. The screen went black, smoking slightly.

He screamed again.

_"Aaaarrrghhh! Kristoph! What have you done to my guitar?"_

_"I told you to eat something."_

_"Just leave me alone, alright?"_

_"Klavier, you can't be left alone, that's the problem. You're fifteen and you have more issues than a ninety-year-old with arthritis. I know for a fact that you've been doing cocaine."_

_"That's not true!"_

_"And other drugs, as well. I'm more perceptive than you think, so at least give me a little credit. It's not like I don't do your laundry, you know."_

_"..."_

_"I should hope this has taught you something. And you're going to have to be more responsible if you want to be accepted in that law school you wanted to attend in Germany next year. You're a smart kid, Klavier, but you're going to have to act more mature if you wish to get anywhere in life. You can't just party your whole life... Where are you going?"_

_"Out."_

_"Did you not just hear what I said? You're not going anywhere for a very long time, my friend."_

_"I said, leave me alone!"_

_"I can't leave you alone, Klavier."_

_"I'm sure you can."_

_"If I do, then who will you have?"_

"...Thanks. Bye."

Phoenix hung up the phone and closed his eyes. The bill for fixing the computer was going to cost him a lot more than he thought, and he just didn't have that kind of money right now. True, it was his fault for throwing the computer at the wall, but that didn't mean he couldn't complain about it.

"Daddy? Are they going to send someone to fix it?"

"I guess so. It's more than I thought it would be."

Trucy looked rather puzzled.

"But I thought that computer store only charges you a few dollars for fixing a virus."

Phoenix looked away, feeling awkward. It was already shameful enough explaining it to the guy at the computer repair shop.

"I don't know. I thought you had homework...? You'd better get to it if you want to go to your friend's house tonight."

"Fine." She stomped away.

Phoenix decided he'd try the diary again. Maybe _something _inthere was readable. Why did German have to be such a hard language?

_Because you can't speak it, stupid._

_Shut up, conscience._

He opened up the diary and flipped to a random page. German. He tried again. German.

Phoenix was about to give up when a piece of paper fluttered out of the pages. It was in English, though it looked more like a letter than anything.

_Wright-_

_I'm relieved that I don't have to go to the trouble of translating this for you. I'm still rather surprised that you're bilingual, but I suppose you have a lot of free time when you're out of a job._

Phoenix felt a surge of anger race through him. He had never said that! He could only speak one language, and besides, who was Kristoph to comment on his lack of a real job? He was in jail!

_Anyhow, you'll notice my later entries are in English. I just found it easier to speak the language everyone around me was using after awhile. _

_Please refrain from showing this to anyone, especially my brother. I know that you won't tell anybody about anything written in here, but just in case, I have Mr. Edgeworth's mailing address. You don't want me sending him anything... insulting, would you? I thought not. _

_Oh, and one last thing. I have nothing to gain from showing this to you, maybe even things to lose. Just remember: you asked for it._

_What an ominous way to end a letter_, Phoenix thought. He quickly looked for the later entries that were supposedly in English. Only a few of them were. He was about to read them when something hit him.

_Edgeworth's mailing address?_

Great. That could only end well.

He decided that he was going to read the entries in order, and no one could tell him otherwise. Feeling rather rebellious (and a bit angry at Kristoph), he decided to phone Miles. Kristoph would never find out, would he? He dialled the prosecutor's cell number, hoping it was the same as it had always been. He was in luck.

"Edgeworth speaking."

Phoenix knew exactly why he had originally wanted to leave Edgeworth out of this the moment he heard his voice. He immediately felt sick.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Uh...Hi, Miles."

Pause.

_Oh please, don't hang up!_

"...Wright?"

_Hang up! Hang up!_

"Y-yeah. It's me."

"Excuse my rudeness, but what do you want?" he asked rather rudely.

"I have a favour to ask of you."

"Last time you had a favour, I was forced to become a defense attorney for a day."

_I thought you didn't mind._

"This one isn't as hard. You can speak German, right?"

"...Yes..."

"Great! Well, I have this diary, and-"

"Hold it! Whose diary?" Edgeworth was entering prosecutor-mode. "Last time you had a diary, it cost you your career."

"Just cut the courtroom-speak, alright? It kind of hurts. Kristoph Gavin. You ever heard of him?" Phoenix ignored the remark about the other diary.

"Gavin? Does he have a younger brother?"

"Yeah."

"I think I have. I may have faced him in court a few times. He seemed good enough."

Phoenix felt almost jealous for a second.

"So why do you have it?" The prosecutor was sounding slightly suspicious.

"He gave it to me! Why does everyone thing I stole it?"

"I never said that, Wright."

"Well you were implying it, Edgeworth!"

"I'm sorry if I came across that way."

"Yeah, right."

Phoenix could hear the other man sigh on the other end. He instantly regretted his last statement.

"Stop acting childish... You've really changed, Phoenix." Edgeworth's voice broke when he said the other man's name. Phoenix felt a pang in his chest.

"I really don't know what to say to that," he replied.

Another pause.

"Can you call me tomorrow? It's four in the morning here, and I'm tired."

_Whoops. _

"Yeah, sure. Thanks, Miles."

_-click-_

Phoenix looked up and found himself staring at his own reflection in a mirror. There were wet streaks running down his face.

_Because this website likes to cut out random words, my last Author's Note was _supposed _to say "Because this is Fanfiction (dot) net., I feel..." (without the dot actually written out, of course)._


	5. Blood

**Chapter 5 -Blood**

_"Guilty."_

_"NO!" I yell as the judge announces the verdict. I know she didn't kill anyone, why can't they see it as well? Juries were pathetic; why entrust the verdict to a bunch of idiotic citizens who know nothing about law?_

_"Bailiff, please calm down Mr. Gavin over there."_

_"Yes, sir."_

_I feel the guard's hands on my shoulders._

_"Don't touch me!"_

_I break away and run over toward the defendant's table. My mother is sitting there, perfectly still._

_"Mother?"_

_She looks me in the eye, and I all I can see is pain that no innocent person should ever have to experience._

_"Kristoph, I want you to promise me something. Look after Klavier."_

_"Don't say that! You're not going to jail, you didn't kill Father! I was there, but that lawyer wouldn't let me testify!"_

_"The verdict is final. I'm sorry, Kristoph, but this is how things work out sometimes."_

_I'm speechless. It's like she is accepting this as her fate._

_"Here. Look after this for me." My mother takes her necklace off from around her neck. It's one she has worn every day as long as I can remember. It's in the shape of a nine._

_"Your necklace...?"_

_"It's more than that. You'll eventually come to realize what it does. I expect you to make a difference in the world, dear. You will be entering university next year, and whatever path you choose to take, make it a good one. There are horrible people in this world, people who cause nothing but pain and suffering. I don't want you or Klavier to turn into one of those people. Don't let others decide for you what is right or wrong. Only you can decide what that means, and sometimes it may not be as clear to anyone else as it is to you. Promise me, Kristoph, that you'll always remember the true meaning of justice."_

_"And what exactly is that? There is certainly nothing just about any of this."_

_"Which is why it is up to you to fix it."_

To this day, I always remember that line as a plea for vengeance. There could be no other interpretation.

----------

"Kristoph."

I nearly fall out of my chair when I hear his voice.

"Wr-Wright! How long were you standing there?"

"Twenty minutes." He looks displeased.

I set down the book I was reading on the table. A new one, since the other one nearly became lodged into my back from Klavier's last visit.

"You seem rather angry today. A fight with Edgeworth?" A low blow, I know, but I've been feeling rather upset myself lately.

Wright's foot greets my stomach. So much abuse lately. I groan.

"I'm not in the mood for any games today." He looks as if he's going to hurt me again.

"Neither am I."

Wright shoves my diary at me.

"What the hell is with this? What made you think I could speak German?"

This is pathetic.

"You told me you could, remember?"

"No."

I sigh. Perhaps I should take him less seriously when he's within ten feet of a glass of wine.

"Two years ago, at my office's Christmas party. You were there. Remembering now? I said I was going to take a trip to Germany, and I offered for you to come. You declined, and then rambled on about how you loved the culture there, and your ability to speak the 'wonderful language'."

Wright pales.

"Then you went off on some tangent about Nazi Germany, and Klavier nearly beat you up for it."

His face turns completely white. He looks like he's recalling something.

"I...I do vaguely remember something like that, yes. I'm sorry about the Nazi thing."

"It's fine, I suppose. You seemed rather out of it, but I didn't expect an outright lie."

The poor man looks ill now.

"So I suppose I have to translate it for you?"

He just stares. I raise my eyebrows.

"Uh, yeah, I guess so." Guilt washes over his face.

"What did you do, Wright? You look very guilty right now."

"Nothing," he says all too quickly. "I just didn't think it'd be that easy."

"You didn't tell anyone, did you?"

"No."

All of a sudden, I am surrounded in darkness. Chains come out of nowhere and snake themselves around Wright. Four red locks appear on the chains in front of his heart.

Anger races through me. I stand up and shove the man against the bars of my cell.

"_Who?_" I snarl.

"What? Who what?"

I slap him hard across the face.

"Who did you tell?"

"No one, I swear!"

I hit him again. Blood gushes out of his right nostril, which seems to surprise him. He looks me in the eye.

"Have any evidence that I did?"

The comment is so pathetic, so _lawyerly_, that I can't help but laugh. I reach into my pocket and pull out a glowing orange charm in the shape of a nine. There's nothing I need to say, my point gets across.

Wright's mouth falls open.

"Now, tell me. Why did you break the one condition I had?"

He just stutters and points at the Magatama, the one I just recently found stashed inside of a hollow book I owned.

"Wh-wh-where did you g-get that?"

I let go of his shoulders and look him hard in the eye.

"Wright."

He realizes there is no way he can win this.

"It was Edgeworth."

"..."

"Well, what else was I going to do? Klavier refused to help and--"

_Klavier._

I silence him quickly.

"You _what?_" I punch him as hard as I can in the mouth. He staggers backwards and spits out more blood, along with a tooth.

_Whoops. _

He examines the tooth as if he's never seen anything of the sort before.

"Wright, do you _want _me to hurt you? There's no reason for this!"

"Thanks, Kristoph. I think this tooth had a cavity," Phoenix says, holding it up to the light.

Against my better judgement, I let out a chuckle. Only he could say something like that and make me smile.

Yet... There's no way I can avoid his questions any longer

"Just sit down. I have a lot to say." I point to my chair.

"Thanks. I appreciate it." He doesn't even complain that I just _knocked one of his teeth out. _

I take off my glasses and massage my eyelids. I haven't thought about my past in a very long time. This won't be easy.

Keeping it from Klavier will be even harder.

----------

Franziska von Karma had prosecuted a lot of cases in her fourteen years of being a district attorney. She had won most of them, and the ones she lost were mostly against that fool of a defense lawyer, Phoenix Wright. How she hated that man.

The twenty-seven year old woman was sitting at her desk in Germany, sorting through old cases she had handled. She was going through them rather quickly, as there was no reason to linger in the past.

There was one, however, that she stopped at.

YL-2. Her first case.

And what a strange one it was. Way too easy, even that foolishly incompetent Winston Payne could have won.

Some of the files were missing. They had suddenly disappeared from the police station a short while after the case had been closed. The few files she did have were trivial ones, ones that didn't really have any importance. For instance, the one she was holding was a description of the defendant and her family.

The name caught Franziska's eye.

_Melissa Gavin (nee Fey) - age 40. Married to William Gavin - age 42. Mother of 2 sons, Kristoph Gavin - 18, and Klavier Gavin - 10._

Fey? Could it be?

_Arrested for the murder of her husband, William Gavin, at the Topaz Theatre in Berlin, Germany. The eldest son, Kristoph, was present at the scene. The other child, Klavier, was not._

Klavier Gavin? _The _Klavier Gavin? Even though she was not into that foolish sort of thing, Franziska was well aware of the man's successful career.

Kristoph Gavin was one of the few big-name defense attorneys in America that she had not faced in court. There had been once instance where she nearly did face him, but he had taken himself off the case as soon as he heard she was the prosecutor.

Which made sense to Franziska, despite her attempts to remain confused.

She put his mother in jail, after all.

_Cause of Death: Loss of blood due to single blow to the head_

_Weapon: Prop Sword_

_Reason for Arrest: Weapon's only fingerprints belonged to the defendant; Witness testimony_

There would have been even more, but the second page was missing. The thief had been very selective about which documents to take, and the ones with information on the witness and defense attorney seemed to be the main target.

Franziska kept what was left of the YL-2 court record, and tossed everything else.

----------

Phoenix chose not to confront Kristoph about the tooth. Normally, he would have, because it was a _tooth, _for crying out loud!

But today his patience was in the negative zone, and getting beaten around by the object of his desire was definitely not helping.

So he listened carefully as Kristoph explained his family.

His father was a police officer, and a very high ranking one at that. He had worked for the German police department for twenty years, and earned what Phoenix estimated would be twenty times Gumshoe's salary, not that that was saying much.

William Gavin was not what stood out to Phoenix, though. What really shocked him was the fact that his mother was a Fey. Apparently not from Maya's immediate family, Phoenix learned after a bit of questioning, but a Fey nevertheless. Melissa Fey was a spirit medium living in Kurain Village. She resided there up until she was twenty, when she met William Gavin, an officer on a training course. The two fell in love, and moved to William's hometown in Germany. He was twenty-two, just having recently received his police badge.

Phoenix didn't want to make him talk about it any sooner than was comfortable, but visiting hours were almost over.

"So... What exactly happened when your father was murdered?"

Kristoph broke eye contact with Phoenix.

"You're well aware of Troupe Gramarye, correct?"

"Yeah, I am." Phoenix's pulse increased. He was feeling uneasy about this.

"And Thalassa Gramarye's accident involving the pistol?"

"I know about that, too." Phoenix was the one who convinced Thalassa to get eye surgery, after all.

"Of course." The prisoner sighed.

Phoenix waited.

"It was December 7th, 2012. Klavier's birthday. He was turning eleven. I was eighteen. Anyway, we decided to attend a magic show, because Klavier was really into that sort of thing. You can guess where I'm heading, right? Troupe Gramarye, a band of three magicians was set to perform onstage at the Topaz theatre. I don't remember where Klavier was, but my parents and I were in a hallway next to the dressing room, discussing what Klavier's birthday present was going to be, or something trivial like that.

"This was recently after Ms. Gramarye's accident, and..."

-----------

_Father holds up the program._

_"Apparently, this is the first performance since that incident where one of the performers was shot. I feel sorry for that poor Enigmar fellow, because it was his wife."_

_"That is unfortunate, yes."_

_"It must be hard, performing again, without your partner."_

_Mother wraps her arms around Father and sighs._

_"I don't think I could ever channel another spirit if you were shot."_

_Father kisses her. This goes on for about five minutes, until I cough, feeling rather awkward._

_My father looks at me._

_"Oh, sorry, son. Forgot you were there."_

_There is a loud slam as a door flies open. A rather foul smelling man walks in and surveys the room. He holds a bottle of rum._

_"What are you doing here?" he asks, red eyes narrowing._

_Father smiles politely at him._

_"There's a magic show tonight, and my family and I are here to watch it."_

_"I don't think you're allowed in here."_

_"I'm sorry, then. We can just leave." My mother is looking rather uncomfortable at the sight of this clearly intoxicated man._

_Father stops her._

_"No, we are allowed here. But I may ask, what are you doing here?" he addresses the bum._

_"I'm performing."_

_I feel my mouth open slightly._

_My father was a cop, and he couldn't let this slip by._

_"I don't think you're in any condition to perform, sir. May I ask you to come with me?"_

_"No."_

_"Actually, I'm telling you to come with me. Come on."_

_"_No."

_My father reaches for his arm, to pull him along, and the man swings at him. Father ducks, but the man is very aggressive. He pushes Father to the floor, and hits him._

_"William!" Mother is very anxious. I am, too._

_The man picks up a large metal pole--A sword-- and brings it down as hard as he can. Father dodges it, but he isn't so lucky the second time._

_"NOOOO!"_

----------

_A/N: Phoenix abuse... D: And he doesn't even stand up for himself. _

_I understand there may be an issue with Klavier's age at this point (a year or so off), but oh well. Ignore it. XD_


	6. Alone

**Chapter 6 - Alone**

"You understand who that was, right?" I ask quietly.

Wright nods, solemn.

I run my fingers through my hair, which hasn't been kept in the best shape lately. It's lost its shine, and it feels a bit stringy.

"Zak Gramarye. That wasn't who he really was. Zak Gramarye was a great person in the public eye, very well liked. Not like Shadi Enigmar at all. Enigmar was a crude, selfish man who didn't give a damn about anyone else. I don't care what you want to call him, Smith or Enigmar; he was still the same, cold parasite. Nothing like the Gramarye everyone saw."

There is a lot more I have to say, but the guard is glaring at me. Visiting hours were over half an hour ago, and I'm pretty sure I have a better social life here in jail than he does.

Wright stands up to leave, but I stop him.

"Wait."

He turns, questioning.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" he asks.

I try to find the right way to word it.

"Listening. Caring. Not running away from me whenever I so much as frown." I scowl as I realize the last was typical for most people.

"I believe I already told you that, Kristoph. I owe it to Trucy."

I shake my head.

"No. It's not just that. There's some determination in there that is completely your own."

He shrugs.

"I guess I just don't believe that you were always this way."

"By 'this way', you mean a homicidal psychopath with some sort of complex."

Wright rests a hand on my shoulder.

"You can interpret it however you'd like, but I don't think you view yourself like that, either."

I don't reply. Instead, I pick up the diary.

"Get your friend Edgeworth to translate it, I don't care. Just don't go crazy, alright?"

He takes it.

"Thanks."

I watch him leave, an odd feeling of disappointment lurking in the back of my mind.

----------

"Edgeworth speaking."

"It's me, Phoenix."

Edgeworth was faster to respond this time.

"Wright, wouldn't it just be easier if we didn't--"

"Please, Miles, Just listen. Do you have fax number?" Phoenix was sitting in the reception area at a dental clinic, trying to hear the other man over the cry of an agitated baby.

"Yes, I do." He rhymed it off.

"Thank you. I'm going to fax you a couple of pages of Gavin's diary, alright? I'd like you to translate them to English, please."

Edgeworth sighed.

"I really don't want to get involved in whatever issues you two have. I'd just like to move on with my life, and..."

"Yes?"

There was a very long and awkward silence before Edgeworth spoke again, almost in a whisper:

"It's hard to move on when you keep reappearing."

It had been almost five years since their relationship had fallen apart. Things had not been working out, what with Phoenix acting like some sort of hobo, but things really went downhill when Phoenix was evicted from his apartment. He ended up spending two weeks living with Trucy in a rat-infested motel. Edgeworth just couldn't take it any longer, the lack of dignity Phoenix seemed to have. He had really changed.

Phoenix quickly realized that it was probably a mistake to regularly call him over the first two years. He knew they were still friends of some strange sort, but he hadn't realized the pain it caused Miles when he answered the phone. They had not spoken to each other in the past three years for the reason that it had just gotten too awkward for conversation.

"You were on the news all the time last year, about that Jurist System thing, and it got to the point where I just couldn't watch."

"I'm..." Phoenix paused.

_What _am _I?_

"...sorry."

"When will you be sending the pages?"

"Tonight, if I can make it to the library before it closes."

"The library," Miles echoed. "What about the fax machine I bought you that time?"

_Trucy happened, that's what. Her and her magic tricks._

"It broke."

Edgeworth made a sound of disapproval.

Something dawned on Phoenix. If Edgeworth was abroad, how could he possibly receive fax? Phoenix voiced this thought.

"I'm back in Germany...Franziska and I are planning on..."

There was a pause so long that Phoenix thought he had hung up.

"...taking a trip to California."

Phoenix's heart sank. He knew Edgeworth was thinking the same thing he was thinking, but neither man wanted to voice it.

_Are you going to visit?_

"I don't know, Wright. I don't know."

_-click-_

"Mr. Wright?"

As if on cue, the receptionist called on Phoenix to enter the dentist's office.

----------

Phoenix felt rather gloomy as he drove to the library that evening. The medical bill wasn't pretty, and he didn't have the right insurance to help cover his new tooth.

He prayed that Trucy would never need braces. The poor girl would probably never get them. If she did, he would have to find a better job.

It wasn't as if he enjoyed the job he had now (he rather hated it), but there weren't any suitable ones available. Despite having a university degree in law, Phoenix found his choice of jobs rather slim. He wanted to take the bar exam again, but at the same time, he didn't. It felt like if he did become a lawyer again, he'd be going backwards in life. It sounded stupid, but it was just how he felt. He had always had a strange aversion to change; he was reluctant to it, yet once something had already transformed, he wanted to keep it that way. He was happy, yet he wasn't.

So he would play piano for the time being.

Phoenix chuckled. Originally, he'd bugged Kristoph enough to give him a few lessons, but...

----------

_"Hey, Kristoph, I just got a job down at the Borscht Bowl Club. You can play the piano, right?"_

_"...Yes..."_

_"Will you teach me?"_

_"It's a lot easier to learn when you're young, Wright... I don't know."_

_"Please? I told them that I could play; that's the only way I could have gotten the job."_

_"I...I guess I could try. But I'm no teacher."_

_"I'm sure we can do it."_

_..._

_"Wright, can you read music?"_

_"No."_

_"Do you know where Middle C is?"_

_"In the middle? Right there?"_

_"No, that's E."_

----------

Needless to say, Phoenix's complete lack of musical knowledge was an issue, and Kristoph could only help so much. Even now, there was only one song Phoenix _sort of_ knew-- Chopsticks.

It was pretty sad, but he kept his job. Anything to put food on the table, right? At least he wasn't working at some greasy fast-food joint or department store. Those would probably require counselling.

--

Phoenix wasted no time in finding the fax machine when he arrived at the pathetic building that the city called a library. It consisted of four shelves, and one of those shelves was filled with encyclopedias. Nevertheless, he knew he could fax things there.

"May I help you? I'm rather busy right now." A very old lady with red pins in her hair and an annoyed look on her face scowled at Phoenix. She looked quite familiar... And why did she speak so quickly?

_I think my brain is trying to make me forget something._

Phoenix's left eye twitched.

"Where are your fax machines?"

She pointed to the darkest corner of the room. If this was a movie, there would most certainly be some dramatic music accompanying this.

But this wasn't a movie, so he approached it.

He barely managed to fax a few pages before it literally broke. Phoenix stared at the button panel at his feet, hoping they wouldn't charge him for it. Ah well, at least it worked. He tried to replace the panel, and quickly exited the library.

The entries he had chosen had not been randomly selected; from the conversation he had a few hours previously, it had been revealed that Shadi killed William on December 7th, 2012. There was an entry that day, and so Phoenix took that one and a few days after. He had also chosen the day of Kristoph's arrest.

----------

_"What are you doing?! Get out of my room!"_

_Kristoph turned toward the door. He held up some bags. _

_Klavier's eyes widened._

_"Klavier, you're only going to destroy your life by taking these drugs. Please, stop." Kristoph was calm, but he looked exhausted. Disappointed._

_The younger male had no idea what to say. He just stared at what was in Kristoph's hands._

_"..."_

_"Why do you use them?"_

_"I...I don't know. I just do, alright? You wouldn't understand."_

_"Then make me understand, Klavier. We can't go on like this, with you keeping all of these secrets. Anything else you need to tell me?"_

_"No."_

_"Do I need to give you 'the Talk' again?"_

_"No!"_

_It had been the single most awkward conversation of Klavier's life, when Kristoph sat him down and tried to explain the facts of life and practising safe sex. He would never look at a banana the same way again._

_Kristoph sighed. He looked so unhappy like that. But not once had Klavier ever seen him cry. _

_"What am I doing wrong?" the elder whispered, sitting down on the bed._

_"What?"_

_Kristoph rested his face in his hand._

_"I've tried... I've tried so hard to provide you with a normal life. But I'm not Mother or Father. Please, just tell me what I'm doing wrong."_

_Klavier's heart sank. Kristoph truly believed it was his fault._

_"I understand it's hard, Klavier. But you can't hurt yourself like this."_

_"I'm not taking that m-"_

_"I don't care if you're taking one pill a day or three hundred! You only get once chance at life!"_

_"That's nice, but my life is already screwed up."_

_"I... Wait, what?"_

_"I said my life is screwed up!"_

_Kristoph looked up. His eyes blazed._

_"So that's it. You think _your _life is screwed up? How do you think I feel? I'm only twenty four, yet I'm raising a sixteen year old. I've got half a year left of law school, and I work a mindless part-time job at fucking Wal-Mart. Aforementioned teen is on drugs, and I don't know what to do. I've got an enormous student debt I can't even begin to pay off, because you go and blow my money on designer clothing. I don't eat breakfast, Klavier, because I need to save the food for you! I work as hard as I can to provide you with a normal life, and you say your life is screwed up?"_

_"Eat my breakfast, then. I don't care. Do you think _all_ of this is my fault? I have to deal somehow, this makes it easier. It takes away the pain of them being gone."_

_"Takes away the pain, does it? That's low, Klavier. Do you honestly believe that it helps? That they wanted you to take this path?"_

_"It certainly helps dealing."_

_"Does it? WELL, IT WON'T BRING THEM BACK!" Kristoph yelled, and he threw the bag containing the strange pills at Klavier. The bag broke, scattering the little round capsules across the carpet._

_Kristoph stood up and walked over to Klavier. He wrapped his arms around the teen, and held him like that for a very long time._

_Finally, after what seemed like ages, Klavier whispered, _

_"I'm sorry."_

_-----------_


	7. Psyche

**Chapter 7 - Psyche**

_A/N: I forgot to mention this last time-- If someone can draw me a picture of WalmartEmployee!Kristoph, I'd love them forever. ^_^_

_Oh, and if you haven't noticed, I've changed my name from __**Snapefan21**__ to __**Cravat of Doom**__. So no one will be confused, right?_

Phoenix was woken abruptly as his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He had fallen asleep in front of the television again, watching some mindless episode of _The Jammin' Ninja_.

"Hello?" he mumbled into the receiver.

"Is this a bad time?" It was Edgeworth.

Phoenix's eyes shot open.

"No, no, not at all!" he answered, a little too quickly.

"If you're sure. I received the pages you sent."

The pianist felt his heart rate increase, and it wasn't because of his lack of exercise.

"Well, what do they say?"

"They're very...personal. The kind of thing you don't ever want anybody else to see. I can't imagine why he would let you have this."

"Could you read them to me, perhaps?"

Phoenix could almost hear Edgeworth wince on the other end. He felt horrible for asking this, as he knew that the prosecutor was one to really value privacy. He bet that it was even hard for the man to read it to himself.

"If I have to, I suppose. And I assume that "Klavier" refers to Klavier Gavin, not a piano?"

"Yes."

"Alright, then."

Phoenix grabbed the nearest pen and paper, ready to write something down if so needed.

Edgeworth took a deep breath, and slowly began to read the pages he had translated.

_"December 7th, 2012:_

_Klavier will never get his birthday present._

_Instead, he gets to have his day ruined by some drunk killing his father and framing his mother for the crime._

_I never could have imagined the pain this would generate, the horrible sensation knowing that our lives will never be even slightly close than what they used to be. Worse still, knowing that I have barely registered what happened. Tomorrow will be a hundred times more painful, as will the next day._

_And I know it will never go away._

_How can it be almost acceptable to murder a man, and then frame his wife? How can the officers and detectives around us keep a straight face when Klavier is bawling his eyes out right beside me? Do they not care? Or do they simply encounter this so much that it has become routine? _

_We've been here, in the police station, for over three hours. Not once has anyone paid any attention to us. Me, I suppose I could understand. But Klavier is only ten, and it's his birthday. Is that the best they can do around here?_

_I can hear Mother wailing down the hall, being interrogated by a stone-faced detective who is impatiently waiting for her to confess. Her fingerprints were on the weapon, after all._

_When we were in the theatre, the man (whom I've managed to establish was one of the performers, Zak Gramarye) who killed Father tossed the sword at Mother. She instinctively caught it, but neither of us realized at the time what the purpose of that was. _

_Now we do, but it's too late. She's not going to be let go now._

_A lawyer appeared here about an hour ago, all too quickly. Ambulance chaser._

_He offered to defend Mother for a relatively low price. She accepted, of course, for what was the alternative? She needs a defense attorney for the trial. _

_Why did Gramarye do that? Why would he want to kill Father? Was it simply because he was so upset over his wife's disappearance that he had to make someone else suffer? The amount of alcohol he had consumed wouldn't have helped matters any._

_I will find the magician, and confront him. He has no right to do this to us._

_In the meantime, it looks as if I'm on my own."_

Phoenix swallowed hard.

"Wow."

"I know. Is this the reason he was being so secretive? But I don't understand-- What would be the cause? Why did he need to make everyone think it was because Enigmar fired him?" Edgeworth sounded confused, which was a rarity for him.

"I don't know that yet. Do the other entries hold anything informative?"

"Hang on, I'll get them."

Phoenix waited, feeling almost as depressed as what he had just heard. By nature, he was an overly-empathetic person. That was part of the reason he became a defense attorney. But he was a bit reluctant to hear the rest of it, because part of him didn't want to explore Kristoph's psyche any further. It was unnerving.

But that was hardly going to stop him.

"Here's the next one," Edgeworth said.

"Go for it."

_"December 10, 2012:_

_Mother's trial was today. Amazing how fast legal proceedings go in this country. Commit a crime, and you're in court three days later. Ridiculous._

_That defense attorney's performance was horrendous. I honestly can say that she would have done better defending herself. He "lost" his evidence, his cross examinations were pathetic, and he didn't even try to question the prosecution (who was thirteen. THIRTEEN.) when presented with Mother's motive. She killed Father because she thought he was cheating on her. I actually stood up and said something at that point, and was greeted with three guards trying to restrain me from doing something potentially dangerous._

_Isaac Walton was his name. He was suspicious, to say the least. Gramarye was called as a witness by the prosecution, and Walton barely said a word. He didn't suggest that Gramarye could have been the killer. He didn't do _anything. _I couldn't have said anything by then. My first outburst was given a warning, but anything else I blurted out would have lead to my being held in contempt of court. Who knows what sort of issues would arise from that. I tried to ask the lawyer if I could testify, even if it was just about Mother's character, but he denied my request. When I asked why, he just laughed. A cold, menacing laugh._

_I asked to meet him later, outside near the courthouse. I have a few things to ask him."_

Edgeworth paused for a bit, to let the words sink in.

"I looked into Isaac Walton. I couldn't find anything. He's not a licensed attorney."

"So the legal system was just as flimsy in Germany, too." Phoenix's hand was getting sore from all the writing he was doing. If he was going to get anywhere, he'd need some evidence. That's the way it always was for him.

"Excuse me, but the legal system is perfectly fine here. Better than California, you know." Edgeworth was being defensive.

"That's not really what... Ah, never mind."

"Shall I read the next one?"

"Yeah, sure."

_"April 20, 2026:_

_Today is Apollo's first trial; defending the legendary Phoenix Wright of second degree murder. The boy has worked so hard since I met him; his determination can be a bit overwhelming at times. He insists on screaming as loud as he can every day, calling it his "Chords of Steel"._

_Do I want him to win? In a way, yes. It would be embarrassing if he had lost, I am his teacher, after all. Wright really doesn't deserve to go to prison, but if it comes down to that, I will accuse him. A loss is better than jail. My main goal, however, is to get that girl convicted-- she will most likely be called as a witness. Prosecutor Payne is quite predictable._

_Having said that, I don't believe this trial will be too difficult; Apollo will most likely do what I suggest. If he just follows my instructions, I am sure things will go pretty smoothly for us. It would have been even easier had I been Wright's attorney, but something made him change his mind at the last minute. That was infuriating, it was just like Enigmar._

_Wright is such a complicated man to understand. Some days I think he trusts me; others I think he suspects me. But lately it seems as if he's getting closer to the truth about what happened seven years ago. I do not regret what I did, but it wasn't exactly the most favourable situation. I often look at Wright and wonder if he would do the same, had he'd been in my position._

_I don't believe he would. Somehow, the man known for turning things around would have resolved the issue in a better way. He is emotionally stronger than I am. And that thought makes me sick."_

Phoenix was feeling slightly sick himself.

He had occasionally thought about whether or not, deep down, Kristoph regretted forging the evidence. Apparently he hadn't.

_Why? Why must he be so proud?_

There was an uncomfortable pause. Conversation did not come easy between Phoenix and Edgeworth anymore, and it was particularly awkward when the basis of what was actually being discussed was another man.

"If that's all, then," Edgeworth said flatly.

"Thank you so much, Miles. You really don't know how much this means to me."

"I'm sure it means _quite_ _a bit to you_, Wright."

Phoenix's heart sank a little bit.

"No, that's not what I meant... Come on, Edgeworth."

Another silence.

"If you need anything else, just give me a call. Just...try not to call me at night, alright?"

Phoenix felt a little better after that.

"Bye."

_"So, Gavin, what is it you'd like to discuss?" _

_"I think you know." I'm not going to be polite here. I don't need to be._

_"I'm sorry I couldn't get your mother acquitted, but you win some and you lose some, right?"_

_I stare down at the crashing waves beneath the cliff we're standing on. _

_"You were awful in there. What _was _that?"_

_"Young man, you have no idea what a lawyer must go through during a trial! I'm sure you couldn't have done better."_

_"She was thirteen, Walton."_

_"A genius, too, no doubt."_

_"I'm studying to become a lawyer, you know. I could have done better." I look up from the water and into his eyes. Hazel. And amused. The right one twitches slightly._

_Isaac Walton is a very short man, with uneven sideburns and a double chin. His pasty skin is glistening with sweat, and I can smell it from here. He wears a dark green suit, with a matching green tie. _

_"Tell me the truth. Did you defend my mother to the best of your ability?"_

_"Of course I did!"_

_I can feel the horrified expression developing on my face as intangible chains slam around his body. Five red lock sort of things appear in front of him._

_"W-What?"_

_"What is _what_, my boy?"_

_"Those locks! Where did they come from?"_

_"Locks?"_

_I can feel something warm in my jacket pocket. Pulling it out, I realize it is the charm on the necklace my mother gave me._

_"Hey, Gavin, what's that?"_

_I quickly re-pocket the charm._

_"Nothing."_

_Walton leans in closer, grinning like a madman._

_"Tell you what. I'll let you in on something...interesting."_

_"What is that, now?_

_"I'm not really an attorney."_

_"You're...No. You're joking."_

_"Nope! I'm an actor! Funny, isn't it?" Walton starts laughing again._

_"Then what the hell were you doing standing in a courtroom with an attorney's badge?"_

_"This? Nah, this is cardboard!"_

_"..."_

_"I was hired, you see."_

_"Who is your client?"I ask quietly. I've gone past seeing red and straight onto blindness. I literally can't see anything except my rage._

_"Shadi Enigmar. Ever heard of him?" He loosens his tie a little bit._

_"No, I haven't. What does he have to do with any of this?"_

_"Maybe you know him better by his stage name? Zak Gramarye?"_

_My eyes narrow._

_"What did you say?"_

_"Oh, so you do know him! Aha, well, he paid me quite well! So you really can't blame me for not defending your mother!"_

_"How can you say that?"_

_"Well, you'd do anything for the right price, no? I'm a rich man now!"_

_I close my eyes and try to speak at a normal volume._

_"Never. I would never do anything like that."_

_"You'll see one day, lad. Now if you'll excuse--"_

_I never hear him finish. Gathering all my strength, I step forward and push the man as hard as I possibly can. The ugly grin is wiped off his face as he falls._

_Right off the edge of the cliff._

_I stand there, horrified, as I hear his body hit the rocks. When I look down and see him, my knees give out, and I collapse onto the ground. I do not hear the man behind me creeping away._

_Isaac Walton was the first person I'd killed, and Shadi Enigmar had seen the whole thing._


	8. Reminiscence I

**Chapter 8 - Reminiscence I**

_A/N: I've been so very busy lately... Sorry for the lack of updating. Here's a short chapter. _

_x.x.x.x_

I walk back to our house slowly, the weight of what I had just done pressing down upon me.

_I just killed someone._

With each step, a fresh wave of shock.

_Someone is dead because of me._

I never dreamed something like this could happen. Just four days ago I was worrying about mundane things like whether or not I should get a haircut. Such foolishness.

_Strange how much a murder puts things in perspective._

I didn't even know him. He could have had a family; children to look after. I was so angry at what he'd done that I hadn't thought about what I might be doing to his kids. The very same thing I am suffering through.

_Oh my God. _

I can barely walk anymore, so I just sit down on the pavement, shaking.

I don't hear the footsteps behind me.

"What a horrible person you are."

My head snaps up, disbelieving. Someone saw Isaac fall...?

_I thought we were alone..._

My gaze meets that of Shadi Enigmar's.

"_You..._" I stand up, not even knowing where to start. "How can you-"

I am cut off. Enigmar has his hand clasped around my throat, squeezing it. I can't breathe.

"No, kid. Don't talk to me that way. Understand?"

I nod quickly, eyes wide.

He releases my neck, and I tumble over into the freshly fallen snow.

"I don't think you can afford to just say anything you want to me. I just witnessed something very valuable that could land your ass in jail for the rest of your life."

I refrain from saying that I am in the exact same position with him. Even still, he seems to know what I'm thinking.

"No one would believe you, you know. You're only... what, eighteen? I hardly consider that credible. But me, I am a famous magician. If I say it is raining, then it is raining. Whether there's water falling from the sky or not."

_What?_

"I'll make you a little deal, Gavin. You do _whatever _I say, and I won't tell the cops. Got it?"

I close my eyes. Not blackmail. Anything but that.

"I said, _got it?_"

"Yes," I sigh.

"Good. Now I have an infant at home, needing to be taken care of. However, I'm busy. I don't have time to cook, clean the house, or look after her. So I want you to help me."

My heart pounds.

"But you live..."

"...in California," he finishes.

"This is Germany."

"So it is."

I'm speechless.

"So you want me to move halfway across the world just so I can be your housekeeper?"

_If you can kill someone, you can do just about anything._

He laughs. "Sounds about right. I'll give you a month. And you'd better pray that you're on my doorstep on the tenth of January, or there'll be hell to pay."

Enigmar hands me a slip of paper. An address, I presume.

And with that, he is gone.

_x.x.x.x_

I unlock the door and enter the house. I had left Klavier alone longer than originally planned, but there were a few...setbacks.

_Committing homicide and being blackmailed by your father's murderer, nothing big. _

He comes running into my arms, bawling. The poor kid hasn't stopped in three days.

"I thought you were dead, too!"

My blood runs cold. I let go of him.

"Don't even say that, alright? Don't even _think _about something like that."

Klavier nods.

Taking a deep breath, I break eye contact and scratch my neck.

"Klavier...We're moving."

If the situation hadn't been so serious, I would have laughed at his reaction. His face literally looks like one of those 'shocked' emoticons.

"W-why? Where?"

"Because we are; don't ask questions. Now I want you to go to your room and sort the things you want to sell from the things you want to keep."

I start toward the kitchen.

"No! You can't tell me what to do!"

"Yes, I can. Please go do it." I keep walking.

"You're not Mother or Father!"

I stop and spin around, glaring.

"Well in case you haven't noticed, they're not exactly here, are they?" I yell, frustrated with everything but him. He has a point, after all. I don't think I'd want to follow orders from me either if I was in his position.

His eyes tear up.

"I miss them already," he mumbles. "I want to stay here, where I remember them."

"I do too. But Klavier, we have to keep going." And get going, too. It will be very difficult to try to move across the globe in one month. I haven't thought this through, not nearly, but I really do not see another option. I'm not going to jail, especially not at the benefit of Enigmar.

_x.x.x.x_

It's lucky I'm eighteen. Any younger and I'd run into some serious legal issues. However, I have enough rights in both Germany and the United States at this age to care for Klavier.

I applied for a passport this morning. It all hangs on that. If I don't get one in time, I can openly admit I fear what will happen. Perhaps I could hide on a cargo ship?

_What am I thinking?_

I bang my fist against the table I'm sorting kitchenware at. I've been doing this for over three days now, and I still have half the kitchen left.

"Why?" I whisper. "Why me?"

_Murderer. You're a murderer, Kristoph._

I drop the forks and curl up into a ball on the cold linoleum.

_No. I can't cry._

"Krissi?"

I look up. Klavier is standing above me.

"Is everything alright? Why are you on the floor?" he looks rather worried.

"I'm fine." I get up and start sorting the utensils again. Klavier stands there.

"Get packing. It's already ten, and we need to go to the immigration offices in an hour."

He blinks.

"Answer me, Klavier."

The kid mumbles something.

"What?"

"I said... I wet the bed."

_Oh. _

"I...Uh...Well..."

_What do I say to that?_

"I'm sorry, Kristoph...I didn't mean to!"

"Well of course you didn't, but... You're a bit old for that, aren't you?"

_That was insensitive... But ten? Kids still wet the bed at ten?_

"I guess so..."

I crouch down on my knees so I'm at eye level with him.

"Don't worry about it. I'll clean it up. In the meantime, just get dressed for me, OK?"

Klavier nods.

"Alright."

He leaves, and I go back to the mind numbing task of putting cooking paraphernalia into boxes. Lying beside the pile is a brochure for Troupe Gramarye. I take a steak knife and stab Zak Gramarye's face as hard as I can, getting the knife stuck in the table.


	9. Scarred

**Chapter 9 - Scarred**

Klavier Gavin loved his brother very much. He had to, right? Kristoph was so good to him as he was growing up. But so much had changed since Magnifi Gramarye's death that he wasn't even sure that it was the same Kristoph knew anymore. The man was cold, so very cold. And to be brutally honest, he was even a bit afraid of him sometimes. The way he would look at you, that piercing, intense gaze, wasn't always like that.

Klavier needed to set thing straight. But he doubted it would take one visit to the prisoner to completely fix everything.

So he tried again, this time having very low expectations of what the next few hours would bring.

_x.x.x.x_

Phoenix felt like he was reading some sort of criminal drama (though in a way he actually was). He wanted to know what became of Isaac Walton, the man who pretended to be Melissa's lawyer for some unknown reason. The only way to get answers now was to either beg Edgeworth for more translations, or visit Kristoph himself. Phoenix eventually decided that the latter option would probably cause just as many emotional scars as the first, but would be safer in the long run if he ever wanted to repair his relations with the magenta-clad prosecutor.

So he was off to visit his homicidal and potentially sociopathic nail polish-loving buddy.

Or as much of a buddy as a person like that could be.

_x.x.x.x_

Life can be very coincidental sometimes, and right now was one of those moments. Phoenix pulled into the State Penitentiary parking lot in his car at almost exactly the same time Klavier did so on his motorcycle. Klavier hopped off the bike as Phoenix opened the door. They both looked at each other awkwardly for a few seconds before Phoenix decided to break the silence.

"We're here because of the same person, aren't we?" Phoenix called across the paved square.

"Ja... I believe so."

"What are you here for?" he asked.

Klavier just shook his head.

"Just go in, Herr Wright."

_x.x.x.x_

I close my eyes and hope for the two to be gone when I open them again. They aren't.

I can barely deal with them on their own; why must they come together?

"Klavier. Wright."

Wright smiles, but Klavier scowls.

"Don't look at me like that, Kristoph. We happened to get here at the same time. It wasn't planned, so knock it off."

A beautiful example of how different people can read my expressions.

"And what would you like today?"

Wright holds up the diary, biting his lip.

Klavier turns his head and reaches for the book. Wright pulls away.

"Please, just tell me why you're letting him read it!" my brother asks quite dramatically.

I look away.

"Kristoph, please. I'm your brother. We were really close. Anything that affects you will ultimately affect me, and frankly, I don't think you trust Herr Wright over here. Is there any specific reason why you would entrust your thoughts to someone who you only have relations to because you screwed over his job?"

I say nothing.

"Kristoph?"

I won't speak. There's nothing I want to tell my brother.

"_Kristoph? _Answer me!"

He is dangerously close to losing it. Picking up my framed photo of Vongole, he throws it at the floor. It makes a loud shattering noise. The guard does nothing but glance in my direction. Klavier then steps on the pieces, breaking them into smaller segments.

I finally stand. I have had enough.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

Klavier's eyes narrow. He grabs onto my shirt.

"What is wrong with you? You're a different person now!"

Indeed I am. I smirk, further angering him. But instead of becoming violent again like I had anticipated, he crumbles.

Wright looks like he wants to say something, but I glare at him.

"Goodbye, Klavier. Please come back when you've learned to mature."

He gives me a rather rude hand gesture and stomps off. I laugh.

When he's gone, Wright clears his throat and steps forward.

"How...How could you do that? It's so cruel, the way you keep repelling him. All he wants to do is to help you!"

I sit down again and start picking up the pieces of the picture frame.

"It's the only way."

Wright sighs.

"You're so irritating to talk to, sometimes! How is it the only way? Stop speaking in goddamn riddles!"

"You'll come across the answers soon enough, Wright, I promise that. You just have to realize how difficult it is for me to disclose them."

"..."

"In the meantime," I say, "what is it you came here for? I assumed you were going to say something about what you're holding."

"Yeah, it is. Whatever happened to Walton?"

I freeze. I had in truth completely forgotten about writing that part down, despite the fact that I wrote basically _everything_ down.

"I'm almost afraid to ask, Kristoph. But what happened? I couldn't find any info on him."

I look Wright square in the eye.

"I pushed him off a cliff," I whispered. "He died."

"No...No..." he backs up, hitting the bars. "No."

"Yes. I told you, didn't I? There's things in my past you wouldn't be able to imagine happening. Don't act all surprised when I say something I warned you about."

Despite this, he persists.

"Why did you do that?"

"He was paid to defend my mother, and do a poor job at it. I'm sure you can guess who hired him."

"Yeah, I can."

"And do you know what else? Enigmar saw the whole thing." I clench my hand around the shards of glass.

"Oh lord..."

"It was pretty bad. He blackmailed me, threatening to go to the police. Made me move here and play housekeeper for him."

"What year was this, again?"

"It was just the beginning of 2013." The glass punctures my skin.

"Trucy would have just turned two, then. She was born on New Year's Day," Wright says, almost proudly.

"Wright, you do realize what that means, I hope."

"No, what?"

"I looked after Trucy until she turned six."

His eye twitches violently. I raise my eyebrow.

"Is there a problem with that?"

"No, it's just so odd to think that you knew her before I did."

"She was quite a child."

Wright is staring at me with an extremely serious look on his face.

"Did he...Did Enigmar ever hurt her?"

"No, he did not. At least, I don't think so."

He looks relieved for a few seconds, then serious again.

"Kristoph, you're bleeding."

I look down at my arm and see the blood. I must have been holding onto the glass too tightly. It's dripping onto my sleeve.

"Ah, shit."

I drop the bloody glass onto the table. Taking off my jacket, I roll up my sleeves.

Wright makes a noise, and I look up.

"What in the world happened to your arms?" he asks, grabbing them. I then realize what he's staring at.

Multiple thin, faded white scars cover the entirety of my arms. I quickly pull them away.

"You didn't... You weren't cutting yourself, were you?"

I almost laugh.

"Cutting myself? What do you take me for, Wright? Just think for a second. How do you suppose I got these scars?"

He doesn't reply.

"Well," I begin, unbuttoning my shirt, "let's just say Enigmar was abusive in more ways than one."

Wright understands. He gasps as I pull off my shirt to reveal the many long scars decorating my back.

"The man was a raging alcoholic. With no constructive way to release his ever-present anger, I became his punching bag. In fact, there were a couple of times he even hit me over the head with a bottle."

Wright becomes uneasy, avoiding eye contact. I stand up and make him look me in the eye.

"Shadi Enigmar hurt me in ways you could never even imagine. Knives were only one of his methods."

_x.x.x.x_

_"I'm here."_

_Enigmar raises his eyebrows._

_"Wow. I'm surprised you made it that fast. You still have a day to spare. Get inside. I need to tell you about the things I want you to do."_

_I step inside the man's house and marvel at how elegant the whole thing is. He is only a magician, yet he has the living standard of the most popular actor in Hollywood. I wasn't aware of how famous he was._

_I left Klavier at the new apartment, deciding that it was the lesser of two evils. I don't want him to be within a mile of this man._

_I quickly scan the room we're in now, which appears to be the living room. A grand piano, a plasma screen TV which seems to take up half the wall, and handsome leather couches that look brand new._

_"You like it?" he asks._

_Unsure of how to properly respond, I just nod. Enigmar laughs._

_"Well, you're not here to admire anything, you're here to clean! And cook, and watch Trucy, and generally do anything I ask."_

_"Trucy? Is that your daughter?"_

_"Yup! She's upstairs at the moment. How good are you with very young children?"_

_"Define 'young'."_

_"She just turned two a few days ago," he says, frowning._

_"I've never actually taken care of any sort of child before, except my brother who is eleven."_

_"Practice makes perfect, Gavin. You'll learn soon enough."_

_I can openly admit to myself that I am afraid of Shadi Enigmar. He seems very unstable, emotionally and otherwise. But this is ridiculous. _

_"I don't think it works that way. I haven't had any experience with children, so I don't think it's-"_

_The next thing I'm aware of is the wall. He has pushed me against it._

_"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. I'm leaving for awhile, and you will watch her. Understood?"_

_Dignity. I must retain dignity._

_"I asked you a question!" He pushes my head harder against the wood and pulls my hair at the same time._

_I feel something snap, followed by a sharp, intense pain. My glasses have broken._

_"Gavin!"_

_Go ahead, scream at me. _

_My remaining silent is probably not the smartest decision, but Enigmar is interrupted by a screaming noise from upstairs. He releases me._

_I'm pissed off at my inability to see clearly. My glasses are beyond any sort of possible repair._

_"Sounds like you're doing a wonderful job of parenting, Shadi."_

_He smiles maliciously._

_"Oh, but that's your job now, isn't it?"_

_x.x.x.x_

"You couldn't have testified about any of this during your trial? I'm sure if you provided them with a better motive-"

I cut him off.

"Have you been listening, or not? I don't want this information told to people!"

"But _why?_"

"Klavier. He truly can't know that Enigmar abused me."

"I...what...How is he _really_ related to any of this?" Wright asks, reaching into his pocket for what I can only guess is his Magatama. I hold my own, but of course I cannot see what he is seeing. But I do know what it is.

Wright closes his eyes and leans his head back.

"Can I ask you a question, Kristoph?"

"What is it?" I reply.

"Why are they no longer black?"

"The Psyche-locks, you mean?"

"Yeah," he says.

I examine my own little charm, and wonder how such a thing could work. It doesn't make any sense, this ability to detect lies and hidden secrets. Had I not seen for myself the odd locks covering one's heart, I would not have believed it was true. Life can be full of surprises. I realize how stupid the answer to Wright's question is.

"I'm such a fool," I say, chuckling.

"Why do you say that?"'

"I don't want to hide anything from you anymore, Wright. I want you to know the truth, it's just..."

"Painful?"

"Very."

I cannot see them, but I can tell from the look on Wright's face that every last lock has shattered.

_Because only the red ones are breakable. _


	10. Reminiscence II

**Chapter 10 - Reminiscence II**

_A/N: This chapter is rather bloody... Does it warrant an M rating? Ehh... It's only this chapter._

I've been doing this for six years, but I haven't gotten better. I could come up with a bunch of pathetic excuses as to why I'm doing a terrible job, but it all boils down to the fact that I was most definitely not cut out for this. I just have no idea what to do sometimes, a feeling so frustrating that it prevents any sort of progression that could help me get better. I do not want children when I'm through with this. I never had, but this just drives the point home even more.

When something requiring such responsibility is placed upon oneself without any form of consent, the first reaction would be to reject it. I hate having to raise a teenager after only recently leaving that period myself. It's stressful beyond explanation.

It's two in the morning, and he has not returned from wherever the hell he is. My first thought is that he's knocking up some girl he just met, stealing drugs, or something else along those lines. My miserable job at parenting seems to bring out the rebel in him, creating an interest in those kinds of activities. When he returns home, he's going to _get it._

_If he returns home._

My second thought actually disturbs me more than the first, however illogical it might be. What if Enigmar found him? I know, deep down, he's as good as dead. The only reason I'm still living is because he's getting something out of it, the twisted freak he is. Klavier would be of no worth, just a pawn in trying to harm me more. I don't think Enigmar even has a reason as to why he enjoys inflicting pain, it's just who he is.

_Klavier, please, please come home._

I've tried to finish the paper I have to write on how to file an appeal, but I can't. I'm just too worried. My mind cannot focus on anything as mundane as schoolwork. I'm just sitting here in the living room, on the couch with my head in my hands. Waiting for a sound.

_I can't go on alone._

I hear a car pull into the driveway. I jump up, and run over to the window. My heart sinks into my stomach as I realize it is not Klavier, but a man who looks around thirty-five years old. I open the front door as he is about to knock on it. Each apartment on the main floor has its own door leading outside. I wanted this feature very much, even if it meant paying an extra one hundred a month.

"May I help you?" I ask icily. It's the middle of the night, he shouldn't be here.

The man says nothing, just motions to come in. I reluctantly let him. Perhaps he's a member of the police.

_If only I was ever that lucky._

He moves himself to the kitchen and lowers himself into a chair, never breaking eye contact.

"Kristoph Gavin."

I slowly nod, unsure of how I should respond. Whatever he's here for, it can't be good. Happy things can wait until morning.

The man narrows his eyes.

"Do you know who I am?" he asks, jabbing a finger into my chest. Only the glow of a lone streetlight allows us to see. I haven't turned on a lamp. It would make this scenario too real.

"No."

He finally looks away from me, instead focusing his gaze at the thousand-page law textbook sitting on the counter. The thing weighs a ton, I learned that day, after dropping it on my foot. Beside that is a cutting board, and yet beside that is a wooden block with six large knife handles sticking out of it. His direction of sight is making me feel uneasy.

"So who are you?"

"Let me ask you a question, first. Then we'll discuss my name. Sound good?"

I'm becoming even more nervous. I just want him to come out and say what he has to say, to explain why he looks so very agitated.

"S-sure," I say. What else could I do?

The man closes his eyes and speaks very slowly, trying to mask what I can guess is sadness and anger.

"Why did you do that to my brother?"

I don't understand. Or at least, I don't want to understand. My pulse speeds up, and the room seems to darken even more. The combined concern over Klavier's whereabouts and what I think this man is going to say next is enough to make me want to throw up.

"I d-don't understand wh-what you're saying, s-sir." I glance toward the phone. One call and it'd be all over.

The man stands up, and I realize how tall he is. I'm just above six feet, so I can't imagine what...

"You _little liar!_" he screeches, walking toward me. I back up, and hit the fridge. "Isaac didn't deserve that!"

"I didn't do anything, I swear. Please, put that book down. _Please._" I'm practically begging for my life here. Something-or-other Walton is brandishing _Efficient and Effective Cross-Examination_ in an extremely threatening manner. One hit to the head and I would be out cold, or worse.

I imagine he would hit me, but suddenly the door swings open. Walton turns his head toward the sound.

"Klavier..."

My brother is standing on the threshold, looking stoned beyond any hope of logical thinking. I've known him long enough to suspect that pot isn't the only thing he's been doing. If the odd pills I found in his room the other day are any indication, I have no idea how he's going to react to this unusual scenario.

_And the brat said he was sorry, too._

Klavier raises his chin and points in the general direction of Walton.

"Who are you?"

My newfound friend drops my textbook onto the floor. The explosively loud sound it generates makes my ears ring.

"Robert Walton. I was just here talking with your brother about a certain thing he did to _my _brother. Do you know what it is?"

Klavier drags himself over to us and shakes his head.

"What'dja do, Kris?"

I'm still pressed against the wall, not daring to move. Any wrong move or word could really have its consequences.

"Nothing, Klavier. Go to bed."

Klavier actually complies, and his halfway up the stairs before Robert turns on me again.

"You wanna know what my brother felt like? To be murdered? I'll happily avenge him, you know." He reaches down to pick up the book again. I sidle to the right, careful not to provoke him in any way. I really can't see any way out of this. My pride doesn't appreciate my next move, but I'm too damn scared to care.

"Please, don't hurt me. I didn't do anything to your brother! You have the wrong person! I'm just trying to finish law school!"

"Shut up. Shadi told me about what you did."

_Enigmar? It was Enigmar? He told me he wouldn't tell anyone... Ah, who am I kidding? It's _him.

"He's lying!" I shout, really grasping here. Walton hits me across the face.

Klavier appears to have noticed my failing attempts to beg for mercy. He lumbers back down the steps and enters the kitchen. He looks so unbelievably under the influence of _something._

"Stop hitting my brother!"

Walton spins around and approaches Klavier, pushing his neck against the wall.

"What do you want, kid? More drugs?" he asks, restraining him.

Somehow, Klavier escapes his grip. He stumbles over to the other side of the room, angry.

"Don't touch me! Leave us alone!"

Klavier has this odd aggressive look on his face. I don't know what horrible things the chemicals are doing to him, but it really isn't helping his personality right now.

Without warning, Robert pulls a knife out of the wooden block. He turns back to me and points it at my face in a rather dramatic fashion.

"Want to know how he felt? Well? Do you?"

I duck and slide backwards under the table. He takes a swing and misses, which only makes him angrier. Klavier shouts something unintelligible and tries to tackle the man, who easily knocks him back into the corner of the room. I see the blade in front of me again, this time closer. I crawl further back, terrified.

I see it a third time. Putting my arm up instinctively to block the attack, I let out a scream as it pierces through the back of my hand and hits the bone. Blood suddenly appears everywhere, covering the floor and the legs of the table both in the sticky red substance. I become a little light-headed as it continues to pour out. Robert takes a step forward and tries to reach under the table, but Klavier stops him. Having also taken a knife off the counter, he grabs Walton's throat from behind and drags the sharp metal across it. The man's eyes widen as yet more blood streams down his shirt and meets the linoleum tiles. He stumbles forward and drops to his knees, clutching his throat and making odd noises. Finally, his face hits the floor, followed by an unconscious Klavier.

Silence.

I cautiously come out from underneath the table, nearly tripping a few times. It looks like something red exploded in here, what with all the blood. Examining my hand, I realize that the knife must have hit a few veins. I need to end the bleeding.

_I feel sick._

_x.x.x.x_

After cleaning up my wound enough to prevent myself from dying, I examine the situation again. Klavier is still unconscious, whether that is from shock or the drugs he's taken, I don't know. Either way, he isn't going to wake up soon, so I push him off of Robert and turn the man over.

I need to grab hold of the table to keep myself from falling over. The scene is horrific. A repulsive, deep crimson gash decorates his neck where Klavier slit his throat. He sure didn't do it cleanly.

_Klavier... No..._

My next decision really proves my faulting conscience. I feel so numb inside, and I know there's nothing in there anymore. Any sort of feeling was destroyed and erased by Shadi Enigmar.

_I have no choice._

I completely ignore the phone; ignoring a chance to call the police, and go to the cupboard to retrieve a mop. I need to dispose of this body quickly.

I realize only after scrubbing the blood off the floor (strategically leaving some to explain to Klavier that an accident caused all the blood... I'll figure out exactly what later) and the knives, that today is my birthday. Happy twenty-fifth. If all goes well, I'll be a lawyer by the end of the year.

_If all goes well. Sure. Now let me just hide a dead body and I'll be all set._

_x.x.x.x_

After managing to clean up enough blood to prevent a sticky trail, I am somehow able to drag Walton's body out to my car. It takes awhile, but I feel a bit better after driving for a few minutes. I then realize that I don't know where I'm going.

_Well, there's a wooded area with a large lake a few minutes away from here... If I just put him in the water, that'll remove any sort of fingerprints that may be on him now._

I have to pull over a few times to keep calming myself down. The sudden-ness of it all is extremely overwhelming, and I never thought I'd have to deal with this sort of thing again. I don't want anything to do with murder.

And Klavier, oh God. As screwed over as he was, he was trying to save me. I am a selfish person, and I will admit that. I cannot go to the police because while they could probably overlook this situation and call it self-defense, the incident with my mother's attorney would not be so easily casted out. I can't help Klavier learn the truth because that would ultimately cause my own arrest.

_I am so sorry._

If I'm lucky enough, he won't remember much when he wakes up. I'm counting on that to make this plan work. I will never tell him what he did; I would die before doing that.

Finally, I reach the woods. There are a few streetlights nearby, and whether that will help me or hurt me isn't clear yet. I have but one objective: to hide this body.

It's more difficult to remove him from the car than it was to put him in; I have to make sure not to get anything the police would consider evidence anywhere. I imagine Walton's disappearance will be reported in a few days, and since the man is originally from Germany, the-

No.

_No..._

Enigmar would report it. He'd obviously be the first person to realize what happened. And what wouldn't stop him from initiating my execution? I'm sure he's bored of me by now. Time to find a new _slave_.

I push the body as hard as I can into the lake, ignoring the screaming pain in my right hand. It sinks immediately, leaving only his left hand above the surface. The last thing I see is the glint of a golden wedding ring.

_Beautiful. Another family._

I do not have one coherent thought on the way home. My mind has shut down.

_x.x.x.x_

I'm relieved to find that Klavier hasn't woken. He's just asleep now, snoring away on the floor. I tap his shoulder.

"Klavier. Wake up."

My brother slowly opens his eyes and raises his head. He clutches his forehead and groans.

"Ugh...Wh...What happened to you?" he points at my bandaged hand, clearly a large wound.

I don't miss a beat.

"I cut myself trying to replace the light fixture on the ceiling. The glass broke, and sliced my hand. You slipped in the blood on the floor and hit your head."

It's so ridiculous I almost don't think he'll buy it. But if he doesn't remember anything, he'll basically have to accept what I say.

_Good thing I made sure to throw that book at the light before I left._

He opens his mouth, as if to say how pathetic my explanation is, but he closes it again. I see confusion in his eyes, followed by nervousness.

"Are you... Are you sure that's what happened?"

"Positive."

I don't question his previous whereabouts that night. I don't say anything when he skips school the next day. I don't object when he goes out the same night. I sit in the bathroom, in front of the toilet. When I think there's no way I could possibly get sick anymore, I realize you can't get rid of immorality so easily. I'm as filthy on the inside as I am outside.

The police discover the body four weeks later, but by then it's too late. They don't investigate very far because there's nothing _to _investigate. Turns out Enigmar stayed silent, probably afraid of what _I'd_ testify to if hedid.

But I'm not sure I could speak of his actions, even though that's all I see when I close my eyes. Nightmares are frequent.

I dread the night.


	11. Reminiscence III and IV

**Chapter 11 - Reminiscence III and IV**

_A/N: Gyakuten Kenji 2, anyone? It's quite exciting news._

_x.x.x.x_

_**III.**_

"Hey, you. Gavin."

I look up from the potatoes I'm mashing. It seems that lately Enigmar has taken to the idea of me being what apparently his wife once was, and by the looks of things, he wasn't a very desirable person to be married to. Then again, I don't know what I could possibly have expected. Cooking was something I was always rather good at, but anything I prepare is never good enough for this gourmand. Trucy will eat whatever is put in front of her, but for Enigmar, anything short of a work of art will not be touched by him. I suspect he eats out every night anyway, but he tells me to make supper just wants to watch me work.

It's frustrating. Spending my afternoons and evenings cooking and cleaning and doing any other sort of miserable chore that is thought up is one thing, but having my efforts constantly being deemed 'not good enough' is enough to make me want to drown somebody in the toilet I'm forced to clean daily. I'm just a university student, why do I have to do this? I'm not getting paid or anything.

_I know perfectly well why I have to do this._

About a year into this slave job, I tried to put my foot down and tell him that I wasn't going to put up with any more of this crap; to tell him this was ridiculous and I was going back to Germany. The result was a nightmare. He held the incident with Walton over my head and dared me to say that again. I try not to think about it too much, but that becomes a bit difficult when I take into account the nineteen stitches I needed on my stomach due to falling onto a glass light stand after being pushed down the stairs.

I don't claim to be a bodybuilder, or anything remotely close to one, but I'm not weak. Shadi Enigmar is just a tank. He once was a professional boxer, apparently, and that really shows in more ways than one. I've had to make up the wildest stories for Klavier and other people to explain my injury-of-the-week. People really believed that I was that clumsy and went about their day, not asking again why I had a bandage the size of a sheet of paper on my shoulder.

"What?" I ask, desperately trying not to have the irritation I feel creep into my voice.

"I'm going out. You're free to go home after I leave, though."

It is so odd and illogical that I really need to say something about it.

"But… What about Trucy? Is anyone going to look after her? I can, if no one else is." Wow. I really just offered to stay longer, didn't I?

"It's fine. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon," he says, as if it was normal and happened all the time.

"She's only seven years old, Enigmar. She's not old enough to handle being alone for so long."

He walks over to the counter and looks straight down into my eyes, almost in disbelief.

"Are you an expert on parenting now? I don't see you having any kids."

The way he's staring at me suggests so strongly that he already knows about the situation with Klavier. But there's no way in hell I'm bringing his name up in front of this man. I'd much rather have him assume that my brother is in foster care or something.

"I'm with your daughter more than you are, Enigmar. I don't think you should be talking."

As soon as the words are out, I knew it was a bad move.

"What? What did you just say?"

I know I should try to take the words back. But I'm sick of being afraid.

"You're not responsible. I don't even know why you wanted a child in the first place. In fact, I bet you didn't."

He approaches me, but I don't move an inch. Telling him off just feels too satisfying.

"You think it's alright to just leave and make someone else do your work. I don't remember an evening where you didn't go out and leave your own daughter with me! For all you know, I could be hitting her, and you would never know! You wouldn't even care, now would you?"

Daggers are glared in my direction. I'm quite lucky they're not real. I am more concerned, however, over Enigmar's lack of _verbal_ response to this accusation.

"Would you?" I ask again, staring him in the eye.

Instead of the screaming I expect from him, he whispers, almost inaudibly.

"I bet you're quite proud of yourself for having an opinion! Oh my. Are you feeling tough?"

I clench my fists together, irritated.

"Yeah, I'm feeling tough. This must be what you feel like when you throw people down the stairs. Do you do it to Trucy often? Perhaps I should call Social Services..."

The yelling I had anticipated finally comes, but not before I'm shoved headfirst into a wall. Something above me shakes violently, and before I have a chance to look up, I feel it come crashing down. An extremely heavy trophy of some sort hits me in the middle of the head. Heavy enough to hurt like hell and blur my vision, but not anything in the line of danger.

"Get out of my house! I don't need to put up with that!"

"But what about my being your slave? Won't you miss that?" I'm really playing with fire here. But after being so passive for so long, it's hard to stop. Even with my head screaming in pain.

"Oh, your services are no longer needed." He says that part calmly enough, but the way he's holding the potato masher suggests something different.

"Wonderful. Goodbye, then." I give him a smile and pick myself up, almost running toward the door. I can hear his footsteps after me, sounds that most likely indicate more pain.

And quite frankly, I'm done with pain. I understand the consequences of what just happened, but the relief of being _free _doesn't let me worry about anything else.

_x.x.x.x_

_**IV.**_

I would have unplugged the phone and threw it out the window onto the highway if I had known I would receive this call.

It just never occurred to me I would be meeting him again, after all, why would I?

_It's only been less than year, you know. Not that long._

I'm working at the law offices of Grossberg and Co. in Los Angeles, many miles away from where I was eleven months previously. After passing the bar exam with a better mark than I was expecting, I searched around and was appalled that this was one of _three _law offices in the area. Three. And one of them has a grand total of_ one_ lawyer who has a rather interesting habit of being late for court any time he's supposed to show up for a trial. I see him sprinting down the street with his briefcase every few weeks with a look of terror in his eyes. God forbid I ever become like that one day.

With much to distract me, I haven't had time to think about anything other than work. Klavier left for Germany almost immediately after I graduated university, and basically went running and screaming through a degree of his own, managing to complete it in a mindblowingly short year. I just couldn't believe it. Despite being extremely rebellious, the kid's a genius. I didn't even think it was _physically possible _to take that many courses in such a short period of time, but apparently it is. The more you know, I guess. I hope he's eating more.

"It's for you, Gavin," Grossberg says, handing me the phone in his large hand.

I've handled eight cases so far, and won them all; the most dramatic of the few being against Miles Edgeworth, 'demon attorney'. To tell the truth, he wasn't very demonic. I couldn't understand where that name came from.

"Kristoph Gavin speaking."

"Ah, haven't heard from you in a long time. How've you been?" Obvious sarcasm barely concealed by my inability to see him. I grip the phone tightly in my hand.

"Enigmar? What do you...What do you want with me?" I ask, hoping this isn't real. That I just passed out or something and someone will be along to revive me shortly.

"What do you think? You're a defense attorney. Guess what I want."

I don't say anything. I think somebody will perform CPR on me soon and I'll be fine.

"I need a lawyer, clearly. Do you have any cases right now?"

"No...Why do you want _me_?"

"Because I know you'll do it," he says. I can just see his sick grin. "Come see me at the Detention Center by four and I'll pay you double."

Sure he will.

Well, two can play at that game. If he wants me, he'll get me. In more ways than he bargained for.

_He needs to die._

_x.x.x.x_

I need to make sure everything goes according to plan. One wrong thing and he'll be out of my grasp. I'm sure of it. Once this trial is over, he won't stick around. There's no way. So I have to win this case.

I have absolutely no idea if he's guilty or not. It doesn't matter either way, however. No, what matters is the actual outcome of the trial; winning is a necessity.

Because when a defendant is pronounced 'not guilty', they're lead away from the area by their attorney. The rest of the court must remain in the courtroom for ten more minutes while the judge speaks to the prosecutor about the newly accused. It's my duty to bring my client to an empty lobby and explain to them any sort of remaining questions they may have about what happened during their trial.

That's when I'll poison him.

Our district court has an odd habit of providing refreshments to anyone and everyone they can force into taking. Despite having overpriced vending machines, they seem overly generous when somebody is pronounced innocent. As a way to apologize or something, there's "free food for all". No doubt Enigmar will at least get a bottle of water or something in plastic wrap I'll need to open for him due to his handcuffs, which the bailiff never removes until after the trial is _completely _over. I'll discreetly put some poison onto his food...

He'll die fifteen minutes later, long after I've left the picture. Nobody would suspect his own defense attorney, one who didn't even get paid before his client's untimely death.

_You idiot, of course they're going to suspect you. You just don't care, do you? Pathetic._

My only concern is securing a win. I can't let the idea of being caught stop me; not after he's basically taken both my parent's lives. I need to return the favour.

During law school, we all had to attend mandatory ethics courses. No one paid attention anyway; it was an easy course with basically no chance of failure. During these classes, the topic of legitimate evidence often came up.

_There is absolutely no excuse for evidence fabrication. _

It was drilled into our uninterested brains for a very long time, as if they thought the act of repeating the message over and over would make it clear to us. As if. We were future lawyers, one of the sketchiest and dishonest careers out there, not far away from mafia bosses. The professors knew this, we knew this, yet they continued to hammer away at these topics.

_Forgery will cost you your career and your reputation._

Such risky business, probably better left avoided. But some things need to be done, and I'm quite a fan of vengeance.

_It is a crime; don't become one with those you defend._

I know what I'm getting into, and it doesn't bother me. Except...

_It does._

Funny, isn't it? I'm more concerned with forging evidence than killing someone. Again.

_x.x.x.x_

'Winter' is quite pathetic here in Southern California; I don't even know why they bother to acknowledge it. It's not like it gets cold or anything remotely close. So I'm sure I'll look strange when Drew Misham answers his door to a man with a cotton scarf wrapped around his head. But I don't want to be recognized. I can hardly see because I'm not wearing my glasses, and I'm sweating to death under all this clothing. Other than the scarf thing, I'm hoping I look 'unremarkable' and will soon be forgotten.

I immediately doubt that, however, as soon as the door opens and I meet the gaze of a young girl. She looks about twelve or so, with bizarre blue hair. Her eyes widen.

"Hello," I say as gently as I can manage. She seems so afraid, so jumpy.

She gives a little gasp.

"Uh...uh...Daddy..." she hides behind an equally timid looking man, whom I presume is Drew Misham. I'm invited inside.

"Pleased to meet you." I offer my hand.

He takes it, and squints at what little he can see of my face.

"You sound kinda foreign. German?"

_Well that went well. I say five words and he knows where I'm from._

"No, not really. I'm...Canadian. Why?"

It was the stupidest thing I think I ever said, but at least he doesn't pursue it any further.

Instead, he fiddles with his grey hair, hair that seems to enjoy defying gravity. It sticks straight up, as if gelled that way on purpose.

"Hmm...What is it you would like to request of my services?" he asks, looking beside him at his daughter, who is now clutching a bear-shaped notebook to her chest. She doesn't stop staring at me.

I hold out the "script" for the diary page, the one I spent forever trying word perfectly. After he takes the page, I also present him with a leather bound book with a top hat on the back.

"I need these words here," I explain, showing him the last page of the diary, "with handwriting that looks identical to the rest. When you're finished, rip the page out."

Misham looks extremely taken aback, as if I'd asked him to develop me some nuclear weapons.

"Is there a problem?" I ask, feeling awkward. I'm never going to do this again.

He tilts his head in the most peculiar manner and glances down at his daughter who is practically eating her nails. She gives a slight shake of the head.

"No," he says, as if he waited for her answer rather than telling me himself. Something odd is going on here.

The girl speaks up.

"W-would you like it in the same colour ink as this paper?"

_Why do you care?_

"Yes, please." I smile. I look back at Misham and wait for his acknowledgment.

He looks uneasy, fiddling with his hair some more.

"Well...actually, sir, it's really my daughter that does this. I'm useless as an artist, and she just has so much talent..."

My right eye twitches violently. I didn't see that one coming.

"Oh. Alright, then...Could I perhaps see some of your other works?" I'm quite skeptical that such a young girl could produce anything of quality.

She quickly nods, and leads me over to the far side of the room. Complicated machines (many of which look broken) and the like are cramping the rest of the area.

"I did that one," she says, pointing to the left of two paintings. They're each of a Dalmatian sitting in a bathtub...

"Wow," I breathe. They're basically identical. I honestly can't tell the difference between the two. She shows me a few others of the same standard; all surprisingly well done.

"Do you believe me now?" she asks quietly. I nod.

I take a step forward to return to the couch I was sitting on, but don't notice the paintbrush lying on the by my feet. I shift my weight to my left foot and immediately find myself on the floor, staring at the scarf I was just wearing.

_Oh God..._

I look up. Vera looks a bit concerned, but Misham is staring, open mouthed. He's pointing at me.

"You...You were on the news last week. You won that case involving the governor..." He pales.

_No...no no no...This isn't happening._

"Gavin! That's your name! What is a guy like you asking for...?" I can just _see _him putting the pieces together.

"I don't know who—"

"And this diary page must mean you're that performer's lawyer! I remember his arrest! Oh man, and—"

I find myself on my feet, pinning Misham to the wall by his neck.

"Why don't you just yell a little louder?" I ask sharply, eyes narrowing.

Vera makes a noise in the background.

"You don't know who I am, alright? You didn't see anything you weren't supposed to. So I'd recommend for you to sit back and watch for the rest of this lovely transaction. Sound good?" I smile sweetly.

He just blinks. I let go of him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Misham. Thank you." I need time to regain composure.

He gives a small wave as I close the door. My oh-so-perfect vision allows me fall down his front steps and land in a heap at the bottom.

_And thus the hit-list grows. _

_x.x.x.x_

I knock on Misham's door again today, promptly at noon. He seems to debate whether or not to let me in, because it's quite a while before I enter the house. Perhaps he's just a nervous man in general, but I can clearly see his reluctance to talk about anything more substantial than the weather.

Having said that, however, I don't think he's lying when he suddenly jumps out of his seat and mutters a quick apology, apparently late for some appointment. I suppose I'm supposed to watch the girl or something... She acts like she's seven. Why do parents enjoy leaving their children with me? It's not like I'm particularly fond of kids or anything.

_Well, best try to say something; she's just sitting there. I guess she doesn't like forging without her father in the room. But honestly, her father has barely met me...So why leave a young girl with a man you don't know? Is every parent in California this irresponsible? Sure seems like it from what I've seen. _

"Have any hobbies other than art?" I ask. This is foolish.

Vera looks up and shrugs. Her voice is so quiet I can barely hear her.

"I don't know...I love drawing and painting, but that's really it."

I normally would end it there and not say anything else. But I guess I wouldn't normally ask anyone to fabricate evidence for a trial, either.

"Any favourite celebrities?" So help me if she says some tween singer I've never heard of.

"Um... I do like Troupe Gramarye!"

It was like someone dropped a brick on my foot. There was no way she could have made the connection between the diary and Troupe Gramarye that fast, could she? Then... she really did like them. That certainly made things easier.

"I see. Why?" I guess I'll play twenty questions with her.

Vera shrugs again and bites what's left of her nails. Again with the chewing! It drives me crazy when people do that. Might as well be eating dead skin or flossing with one's hair. It's disgusting.

"I don't know... I love magical things, I guess."

"Do you like school?"

"I'm home schooled."

"..."

"..."

It's worse than trying to converse with a wall. I sit there in silence, out of ideas. All I can hear is the sound of teeth hitting nail.

_x.x.x.x_

"Here you are, sir. Does it meet the requirements?" Misham hands me the finished copy. It looks quite good; better than I had hoped for, actually.

"Yes, thank you. I'll send payment by mail. You should receive it soon."

_Whether you're still alive to cash the cheque is debatable._

Misham leaves the room.

"Vera," I say, kneeling down. I feel like such a monster...I _am _a monster for doing this, but...

_Don't you dare say there's no choice._

There really isn't, though. It's a horrible thing to do, but there's nothing that can be done. They're both a danger at this point. No matter how old they are.


	12. Reminiscence V and VI

**Chapter 12 – Reminiscence V and VI**

_A/N: Because I can't seem to do anything in a way that is not confusing, I'll tell you now that "__**V**__" takes place _before_ Kristoph approaches the Mishams to forge evidence in the last chapter...I'm sorry. _

_2027_

"_Mr Nick! Mr Nick! Mystic Maya and I are coming to visit you soon!" seventeen year old Pearl shouted over the phone to Phoenix. He winced at the piercing sound, but was otherwise happy to hear the girl's voice. Her bouncy personality had barely changed in the eight or so years he had seen her last. She was even more energetic than Trucy._

"_Are you? That's great, Pearls. I'll make sure to tell Trucy." _

"_Oh, thank you! And I've got a really special favour to do when I'm there, too! But I can't tell anyone what it is yet. I'm not even sure of it myself..."_

_Oh dear..._

_Last time Pearl had tried to do a favour without knowing the details, she ended up helping along a horrible murder._

"_Pearl, are you sure you know what you're getting into? Remember last time..."_

"_I'll be fine, you know!" she said in a way only a teenage girl could. Phoenix laughed._

"_If you're sure."_

"_Aren't I always?" giggled Pearl._

_x.x.x.x_

_**V.**_

_2020_

I'm not lead into the room normally detaining potential clients of mine; instead is an interrogation chamber with nothing but a table and four chairs, one of them occupied by Enigmar. He grins as I walk into the room, followed by the guard. Said guard promptly leaves the room to stand outside, but the act is useless. I know they've put cameras in the room. They always do.

Sitting myself down on a chair that is somehow permanently attached to the floor, I eye the deck of cards on the table. They're blue. But it is not the colour that concerns me.

"What is this?" I ask, gesturing towards the stack.

Enigmar leans forward. His ankles are cuffed but his hands are not. Much use that is, he could still strangle me. I suppose they don't think clients would hurt their attorneys... Oh, how wrong they are.

"We're going to play a little game of cards," he says.

"Why?" I fail to see how this is relevant to a first degree murder charge.

"Because," he says, still grinning like mad, "this is how you get to know someone."

I have to stay calm. This needs to go smoothly, or I may lose my chance forever.

"You don't know me already?"

"Why would I?" he questions, raising his eyebrows and picking up the deck.

"Wh—Oh."

_Oh. _

I see what he's doing. If I knew him, I couldn't be his attorney.

"Very well. What game do you have in mind?" I pray it isn't what I think it is.

"Poker."

One would think that you'd have a very good poker face as a defense attorney. You constantly need to hide what you're thinking and if you show any trace of emotion at the wrong time, the game's over. Your witness doesn't get called, that piece of testimony you just objected to was legitimate after all, your explanation for the hidden evidence was all a bluff, etc. I'd like to think I was good at concealing thoughts, but when you're sitting in front of the person you'd love to shoot in the face multiple times, such talent isn't always present. I'm nervous as it is.

It doesn't really help that I'm miserable at the card aspect of the game, too.

"How about you tell me about why you're here, and then we can think about playing a card game," I say carefully.

Enigmar laughs again.

"But that would defeat the purpose! I need to see you play first."

_x.x.x.x_

It turns out that my inability to play poker well doesn't matter; the whole time we're staring into each other's eyes. I lay down a few cards on the table, not even certain of what they are. A ten of something and... I'm not sure. I can't break my gaze from Enigmar's.

He wins nine rounds in a row, but I know he doesn't care. Eventually, he decides to end the madness and speak about the murder of his mentor, Magnifi Gramarye.

When he finishes, I do not ask him any more questions or get him to say anything else. I don't ask him whether or not he thinks Valant Gramarye is the guilty party, nor do I get him to tell me the reason he 'couldn't refuse'. I simply stand up and leave the room, unable to say anything productive. Because during the game, he asked me a question. A relatively simple one, one that would hold no meaning for those who were watching the meeting. However, I knew what it meant, and had been asking myself for a very long time now.

Now I know the answer.

"_If you feel so strongly about criminals like you clearly do," he asks, smirking, "then why defend them?"_

Because jail isn't where I want Enigmar to be. I want him to know that I will be the one to end his life.

_x.x.x.x_

_**VI.**_

"Gavin," Grossberg begins, tentatively waddling into my line of sight. All he knows is that I've been inexplicably on edge the past few days.

_Being guilty of two murders, two 'pending' murders, and an account of forgery tends to do that to a person._

"Yes?" I ask, taking a drink of my third cup of coffee in two hours.

"I received a message from...er...Your client...Well, I guess not _really_... Since it appears that..." he trails off.

"What is it?" Sometimes, it's hard to believe that this man is my boss; it occasionally feels the other way around.

"Mr. Enigmar no longer wishes to have you represent him tomorrow," he says, backing away.

I nearly drop the mug I'm holding and start to choke on coffee. I have a sort of coughing fit before I can manage to ask who the new attorney is.

"I believe he was the student of an old student of mine. Ah, the days of my youth. Like the scent of fresh lemons!"

_Always with the lemons._

I stare back down at the numerous pages of backup plans I'd written myself in preparation for tomorrow. Then back at Grossberg. Then the papers.

"Do you know his name?" I ask slowly.

"Oh, I think so. If I recall correctly, it's Phoenix Wright, or something," Grossberg says with some difficulty. He has trouble remembering things quite often.

"I see. Thank you, sir," I stand up and head toward the door.

"Where are you going, Gavin?" he demands.

"I'm going to go meet this attorney. I have a few questions for him."

"A-alright then," he says, not really having any say in the matter. I head outside toward the place I see that lawyer running from every other morning. I have a very strong feeling he's the person I'm looking for. The building must be nearby.

It isn't a hard place to find; his law office is just down the block from the one I work at. Nevertheless, it's irritating me to come here and I want to leave soon.

The place doesn't appear to be a very busy one, because the only person in the room when I answer the door is a girl in a strange looking purple costume. She tells me though mouthfuls of a hamburger that 'Nick', by which I assumed she means Wright, was out meeting a client. I could guess which one.

"Can I...take a message?" she asks, as if this was a phone call.

"No, that's fine...Thanks."

It didn't matter. I have another idea. If Enigmar is found innocent, there's absolutely no way on Earth he'll stick around. He's not stupid; he must know what I want to do. However, if he's found _guilty_, then he'll likely want an appeal. He'll need to be present for that, of course, and so I'll track him down then. If I have to take a plastic spoon to his heart in a room full of people, that's what I'll do.

Preferably not, though. So I'll just stick to one task at a time: making sure he's given a guilty verdict.

_x.x.x.x_

I didn't sleep last night, just spent six hours staring at the wall and trying to refrain from having a heart attack; my blood pressure must be in a danger zone. And I don't even have issues with blood pressure.

I clutch the diary page tightly against the binder full of blank paper I'm using to hide it. I gave Klavier a heads-up yesterday about how the defense attorney for this case will be using forged evidence. I can't believe he didn't ask how I knew this; he just nodded and seemed disappointed that I won't be the one he's against.

Scanning the crowd, I finally lay eyes on the person I'm looking for. There's no way he _couldn't _bring her, but I'm still quite lucky she's here.

Having also apparently taken an interest in masquerade lately, I nonchalantly wander over to Trucy in hopes she won't recognize me. I don't even want to mention what I'm wearing.

She looks up at me.

"Hello," I say in my best who-knows-what-and-it's-probably-not-Canadian accent.

"Hi!"

"Do you see that spiky-haired boy in blue over there?" I ask.

She squints in the general direction I'm pointing among the mass of people.

"Yeah!" she says excitedly. "Why?"

"I need you to give this to him, alright? Do you think you can do that for me?"

"Uhh, okay." She grabs the paper I'm holding out to her and bounces off. I watch her tap Wright on the arm and fling it out to him. I can see him asking what it is and have to duck behind a bookcase as Trucy looks back towards me.

"I dunno!" she says loudly. I quickly run upstairs toward the gallery and do not hear the rest of the conversation, including one with Enigmar.

I'm not sure if it's just my imagination, but the trial seems doomed from the star. For all parties involved.

_x.x.x.x_

I'm sitting on the couch in the defense lobby, shaking, as Wright walks out of the courtroom alone. He sits down next to me without even checking who I am.

"I'm sorry about what happened," I say quietly, unable to come up with anything more substantial.

He's sitting there so dejectedly that I want to tell him I don't think he did anything wrong, but that would be extremely suspicious at this point. I didn't even see the whole trial.

A dot of dark blue appears on his lap. Looking up, I see a streak of water on his cheek.

"It's alright," I continue gently, not knowing why I'm bothering, "we all make mistakes sometimes."

Wright finally turns his head to look into my eyes. Deep blue and staring into my soul in such a way that I wonder for a moment if he knows what I am.

We just sit like that for a few minutes until the lobby door bursts open again and Klavier waltzes in. He's in the wrong lobby, but doesn't seem to notice until he sees me.

"What are you doing with Herr Wright, Kristoph? I wouldn't associate with him if I were you. I'm not sure if you saw it, but he forged evidence."

The statement is so unfair to the man who's almost in tears next to me that, even though all of this is completely my fault, I yell at my brother in German to get out of the room. When he leaves, I turn back to Wright.

"Are you going to be alright?" I ask him. He looks as though he's going to put a knife to his own throat any second now.

He nods slowly.

"Yeah. I'll be fine," he replies weakly.

"Did you know that the evidence you were using was illegitimate?"

I'm treading on very thin ice here. I can't say more than he thinks I know.

"No, of course not...It's just... It seemed as though Gavin _wanted _me to present the page. I mean, he summoned the painter within twenty minutes."

_Klavier, you idiot... You shouldn't have acted so fast._

I hold out my hand.

"Kristoph Gavin...I'm the prosecutor's brother."

He grasps it.

"Phoenix Wright... Ex-attorney, I guess."

He stands up and walks out the lobby door. I remain sitting for quite awhile, wondering what the hell I had just done.

_No... I can't regret it. I knew the repercussions of what I was going to do, and I did it anyway. There's no point in wishing anything else._

But I was lying to myself, and I knew it. Despite this, I would continue to lie to myself for a very long time afterward.


	13. Reminiscence VII

**Chapter 13 – Reminiscence VII**

"All in favour say 'aye'," the head of the Bar says rather uninterestedly.

A chorus of agreement rings through the room in a similar fashion; no one wants to be here and they're just trying to get it over with as quickly as possible.

"Great," the woman grunts, standing up. "Is there anything you'd like to say, Mr. Wr-"

"Hold it!" I call. "Wait."

Eleven other heads across the table turn to face me. All of them look displeased.

"Mr. Gavin, we'd appreciate if you'd speak up ahead of time if there's something you'd like to challenge or add to. This hearing is over."

To be honest, I hadn't planned on saying anything. I was just going to sit here and let the man lose his badge without a word.

_Why didn't I just let it go?_

I realize I'm just standing here in silence. The man next to me raises his eyebrows as if to prompt me to speak.

"On what grounds are you saying he forged evidence?" I ask. "You have no proof."

The head attorney sends her pen flying across the room toward Wright. It hits him in the face, causing him to let out a small yell.

"Because he presented it!" she screams at me, clearly angry about something other than what's happening at this moment, but choosing to take it out on us here and now.

"That does not mean he fabricated it."

"When a lawyer presents a piece of evidence, it's his or her responsibility to make sure it can withstand the rules and regulations of this court! You should know that, Mr. Gavin." The room is completely silent now, as if the very existence of noise itself would not dare challenge this woman yelling at me.

"I understand that, Mrs. Payne. I'm merely suggesting that this was a one-time mistake; something he'll definitely be more careful of in the future. Is that correct, Mr. Wright?"

The man nods quickly at me.

"It doesn't matter," Payne growls, pointing a red fingernail at him, "we only get one chance each as attorneys, and _this one here _screwed it up."

"I'm sure you wouldn't see it this way had you been in his position." I say quite a bit more calmly than I felt. Why was I so angry? Was it because I knew the truth?

"Well I'm pretty sure I won't be in it any time soon. I'm careful." She smirks.

I don't say anything.

"_Objection overruled, _Kristoph. Mr. Wright, you are hereby disbarred from the Bar Association of California. You will surrender your badge and any State documents you may possess regarding a past trial under which you defended an accused."

Wright nods and closes his eyes.

"I understand," he says.

Payne stands up and walks down the three steps to the table he's sitting at, making loud clicking noises with her heels as if to say "Look at me, I'm important!". She stares down at him until he realizes what she wants. Sighing, Wright unpins his badge and places it on the table in front of him.

"Dismissed," she says to the rest of us. She makes eye contact with me and smiles in a way I that could only describe as 'flirtatious'. Ugh.

When the room is clear and the only ones left are me and Wright, I move over to where _he hasn't_ moved from, head in his hands.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do anything else," I say. "That woman is brutal."

"It's okay," he mumbles, "I feel really strange right now."

"Lost and hopeless?" I suggest.

He nods again, staring down at his badge-less lapel. I can see Trucy peering into the room from the doors behind us.

"I know what that's like," I murmur. More than he'd know.

Wright eventually manages to gather enough willpower to join us back in reality.

"I'm thinking of taking in the girl," he says to me, scratching the back of his head and slowly getting to his feet. "Maybe adopting her or something. It's been a week and a half already and it looks like she has no other relatives. I don't want to say to her that it's a dead end, but I can't just _not _tell her."

_She doesn't have any other relatives._

He then changes the subject.

"What do you think about the whole thing? Would you even consider it, had your choices been taken away from you?"

At first I think he's talking about adoption. Then I realize his question is much more...threatening.

"Forging evidence, you mean?"

He nods.

"I would never do it, but I know there are some lawyers out there... Well, they're not exactly moral. This profession as a whole doesn't exactly have the best reputation, so there must be some truth in the stereotypes, right?"

I don't know how to answer that question, but he alters it before I can think of how to reply.

"Why do you think they do it? Lawyers are not the ones at stake here. It's the clients... Even prosecutors I can see the motive for, because it's the government and they're feeling pressured, but defense attorneys? The risk is too big..."

He doesn't get it. He's never been in that position, and he doesn't get it. He has no right to pretend he knows the answers.

"You're being naive," I say coolly.

"There's still no reason."

I know that anything that comes out of my mouth from here on out is going to look heavily suspicious. But I can at least make a point while I'm at it.

"Well there's a morally wonderful statement! You've just been disbarred for forging evidence yourself! How the hell am I supposed to know that you're even telling the truth? What do you expect from anyone when _the very profession you're in_ deals with crap like this all the time?"

Wright's eyes narrow.

"Because someone framed me for something I didn't do and forgive me if I think that's a bit unnecessary. It was ridiculous that the page was caught within thirty seconds of presenting it. Why would anyone want to set me up?"

"Not everyone is made of gold. But I can't answer that question for you. Perhaps they just wanted a laugh."

"I'm not laughing," he replies, backing toward the door.

"Neither am I, Wright. But I think someone around here is."

We leave the courthouse together each in horrible moods for different reasons.

Halfway down the steps I realize I need to fix what I'd said.

"I don't actually think you did it, you know," I say carefully. He must think I'm bipolar the way I keep getting mad and calming down on him. Perhaps I am. It's not as if I'm the most mentally healthy person in the world anyway, what's one more problem?

"I know," he replies in an almost apologetic way. "And I think you're the only person around here who believes me. Very few of my friends are returning any phone calls..."

"Do they not trust you anymore?"

He looks at me and shrugs his shoulders.

"You see...that's the thing. I thought they would have been freaking out and trying to get a hold of me, and I know that sounds egotistical, but I'm very surprised that there's been no contact."

"Give them time," I say, "They probably don't know the best way to respond at this point."

"I hope that's the reason, I really do. It's not like them to just leave."

Just then I hear a loud banging noise behind us. I spin around and discover that Trucy has attached some large wooden puppet to herself and is making it speak.

"Hello there!" she says in the lowest voice she can manage.

Wright smiles sadly and crouches down.

"Trucy," he begins rather awkwardly, "why don't you come back to my office with me while I look for someone to... take care of you while your Daddy is gone. Not forever, just until..."

It's a familiar scene, with him being in the place I was for so long. Trying and failing to comfort a young child when figuring out how to do so is impossible. However, he seems to have it together more than I did; she tries to give him a hug. That's more success than I can say for myself.

It looks natural, really. I doubt Wright has had much experience with children in the past, judging by the slightly uncomfortable look on his face when Trucy starts to cry, but the two of them look like they'd known each other awhile.

He stands up again and takes Trucy's hand. She points to something in the distance and then drags him off. Already I can see who will become the boss in this family. Wright looks over his shoulder and I give him a nod, not really affirming anything in particular, but just to say that I'm still here.

* * *

_I honestly don't know what to call this chapter. Filler? Nah; but it is short and unimportant. But at the same time, it does need to be here._


	14. Reunion

**Chapter 14 - Reunion**

Phoenix opened the door and was immediately greeted by a five foot mount of energy pinning him against the wall in a hug. Pearl, still quite short, was squeezing him so hard he thought he might get organ damage.

"Hey Pearly!" he managed before peeling her away. "It's been awhile."

"It sure has been, Mr. Nick! But I can't say I'm any taller than last time you saw me..." She bit her thumb, a habit she had since she was eight.

Phoenix smiled.

"That's alright, Pearl. I'm pretty short myself."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Trucy's at school right now, but she'll be home in a few hours if you want to see her. So what brings you all the way to town these days? It seems that visiting is a low priority for you-"

"Hey!" Pearl rolled her eyes. "I'm very busy, you know."

"I could imagine."

"If you must know, I had to do a favour for someone," she said, wandering over to the fridge. "But I wanted to see you too, of course!"

"Favour?" Phoenix asked. But Pearl didn't elaborate any further so he dropped it.

_x.x.x.x_

It had been over a month and a half since Phoenix had any contact with Kristoph, or even anyone who knew him. He had little idea where Klavier was, and even less desire to speak with him. It was only fifty days, after all, and many people would consider that nothing. But when someone showing signs of mental instability is in solitary confinement, a month and a half can be a long, long time. Phoenix realized this when he hung up his phone, feeling quite a bit dizzy.

"Pearls..." he started, not sure he wanted to describe the situation to her. Despite the fact that she was seventeen and could very well get her driver's licence if she so wished, he felt like she was still the little girl he once knew.

"What? Is everything OK? You look kinda worried." She looked up from the silk hat she had been examining, clearly one of Trucy's many costume pieces that were often left lying around. Phoenix could rarely reach the window due to all the clutter.

"I have to go visit...a friend," he said, deciding less information was better. He knew she would just worry if she knew he was associating himself with convicted killers.

"Um...alright. Want me to stay here?"

"I think that would be best. I won't be that long. Trucy may come home before me so just...do something with her for awhile. I don't know."

_x.x.x.x_

"Kristoph..."

The prisoner turned toward the voice. He was sitting on the bed, head leaning against the wall. His glasses were gone, as was the suit. It had been replaced by an unremarkable white T-shirt and equally boring black pants.

The only other piece of furniture in the room besides the bed was an empty bookcase.

Kristoph didn't say anything, only sat up a bit more as Phoenix entered the cell.

"Why?" Phoenix asked him hoarsely. His eyes were red. "Why did you want to die?"

There was a long silence, broken only by the muffled sound of the mattress as Kristoph stood up slowly.

"Wright," he said softly, subtly moving his arms behind his back to hide the bandages that covered his forearms, "I never expected it." He backed away from Phoenix and stood above a faint red stain on the floor, apparently trying to cover that as well. Standing looked difficult for him.

"What do you mean?" Phoenix asked. He inhaled slowly. He'd never seen the man act so vulnerable, so worried.

"I thought when I killed him that I'd never see him again." Kristoph smiled mournfully. "Is that not what happens when someone dies?"

"Who-?"

"_You know perfectly well who!_" the prisoner shouted, wincing at the volume of his own voice. "Did you think I meant that painter? Or that actor's brother?"

"Start from the beginning, Kristoph, I'm really not following you. What happened?"

Kristoph gestured at the bookcase, ignoring Phoenix completely.

"They don't care, you know. There are a thousand and one ways I could kill myself even with what I still have. If they cared, I'd be transferred out of here and likely restrained so I couldn't open these wounds. They'd cut my hair and drug me up and you wouldn't be able to visit."

It was a hard conversation for Phoenix, who didn't have experience dealing with such a heavy topic. He hoped what he said didn't make it worse, or...

_I have no idea what to say._

"So," he attempted, looking down, "do you need to talk to someone?" It sounded apathetic at best.

_Oh God, now I've done it_, he thought as he felt Kristoph grab his shoulders. But what he heard was not the horrible plea for death he was expecting.

"I didn't want to die," Kristoph whispered into his ear. "I never did."

Phoenix hazarded a glance up. He saw genuine fear in his friend's eyes.

"I think you know what I'm talking about now, don't you?" he said, still quiet. Phoenix had a relatively good idea, but it was always better for one to pretend to know less.

"Just tell me what happened."

There was a prolonged silence. Kristoph couldn't seem to gather the strength or will to speak, and even when he did, it was weak.

"I don't know how he got in... the cameras apparently didn't see anything. I was sleeping and he attacked me. I _killed him_, Wright, he shouldn't be-"

Phoenix reached out and tentatively put his arms around Kristoph, who abruptly stopped talking. He could feel the blonde shaking and at first he thought with a flash of horror that the man was laughing. But as he heard the shallow breaths, he realized it was crying.

"For fifteen years...and even still, after he's gone..."

"I know. And Kristoph?"

"Mm?"

"Just hang on."

_x.x.x.x_

Of course, by this point, Phoenix (and by extension, Kristoph) knew exactly what happened. But he didn't like to admit it, and the impending conversation with Pearl was going to be painful.

"Pearl, it's alright. I know you didn't mean to," he said to her after explaining what had happened.

They were seated at the kitchen table, an upset Pearl resting her head against the tablecloth. She was exhausted but refused to go to sleep. Trucy already was.

"I nearly killed someone, Mr. Nick. He almost died."

It was an eerie sense of déjà vu because the very same thing had appeared to happen with Maya, only the victim died and there had been a trial. There would be no trial this time. No one could handle that kind of emotional strain. And you can't convict someone when there's no one to convict... It was just like the Misham trial; it was a disappearing act.

"It wasn't you," echoing what he said years previously. "You didn't do it."

Pearl just fiddled with the corner of the place mat.

"And so you couldn't have prevented it," Phoenix assured her. But she shook her head.

"No," she said, "I got a call from a magician... He told me to visit him and then he gave me a picture of this guy... he said it was his brother. He told me to channel him and so I did. But when I woke up, it was the next day and I was on the side of the road."

Phoenix blinked.

"And so you don't remember anything between then, right?"

"Yeah...um...Do you think I should go apologize to your friend? It's Mr. Gavin, right? It sounds like he got quite a scare."

"No. I don't think that would be a very good idea."

_x.x.x.x_

_I'm never late, so when Wright raises an eyebrow as I take my seat across from him, I know he suspects something is different. But even I'm not sure what it is._

"_Anything wrong, Kristoph?" he asks._

_I shake my head and pick up the menu. Everything on it is mediocre and can sometimes induce food poisoning. But we're not here because of the food. It's never about the food._

"_I'm hoping someone will want to play poker tonight... I want to get away from the piano," Wright says._

_I'm not really listening, but I nod and politely smile. Something seems to feel very wrong and I can't figure out what it is._

"_Perhaps you'd like to join me?" he asks. He looks slightly sad._

"_No thank you," I decline, directing my gaze onto the dessert menu, which consists of a mere two types of cake._

"_Alright then. But I have to ask, are you any good at poker? I've never seen you play."_

_That's because I haven't played in seven years._

"_I'm horrible. I'm sure Trucy could do better."_

_For a second, Wright's eyes widen, but he quickly regains control of his face. He then sets down his menu and picks up the bread plate. It's not very clean, which is why I usually try not to look at them._

_The unpleasant waitress with a miserable excuse for a Russian accent hobbles over in her parka to take our order. She picks up the camera hanging around her neck but I shake my head._

"_We're fine, thanks."_

"_But pictures let memories last, dah?"_

_Many of my friends in high school were Russian and this is just offensive. _

"_I'm sure I'll remember well enough."_

_She lets it drop and takes our order. We order the same things, of course, because like I said, it's not about the food and it's hard to distinguish the difference between dishes here anyhow. The waitress leaves and we're alone again, save for a few elderly people a few seats away. They're not making much noise, so I try to start another conversation. _

"_Even though pleading insanity-" I begin, but get cut off. The older man in the group behind us yells cheerily to Wright to play a song on the piano. I inwardly groan as I can already feel the embarrassment this is going to cause him...and me._

_Wright knows this too, and despite a few attempts on my part to get him to learn the names of the keys -just the names- he has no musical knowledge, let alone talent._

_So he sits himself down to play 'Chopsticks', the most complicated song he knows._

_I can't help but laugh a little bit._

_x.x.x.x_

_I say goodbye to Wright and head towards the hall that will lead me out of the building. My thoughts are floating somewhere around the vicinity of some witnesses I need to contact for an upcoming trial when I look up and nearly have a heart attack._

_Shadi Enigmar is standing at the opposite end of the hall._

_I try not to notice as he approaches, hoping he won't say anything to me and just be on his way. When he's a few feet away from me he slows down and gives me a smile that can only mean 'I haven't forgotten'. I do all I can to retain a blank face._

_Within seconds he's gone again and I walk into the washroom, shaken. I splash cold water onto my face and stare at myself in the mirror._

_It's really my last chance to do anything about him. I should have even done something years ago._

_A few weeks ago, Wright showed me something rather interesting about this place. There's a secret passage of sorts that connects what is cleverly dubbed "The Hydeout" to the restaurant. I discreetly sneak over there and close the hidden door behind me. Already I can hear Wright's voice._

_The tunnel is small and dark, but the light from the room is enough to allow me to see the outline of the wall. I slowly walk along the path and pray that I do not make a sound._

_I reach the end soon enough and peer in through a small space between the wall and a cabinet. Wright and Enigmar at seated at the table, watching the waitress as she deals out cards. I can't see the cards themselves, but I figure Wright's going win... He always does._

_It goes on the same way for quite some time, until I hear Enigmar shout out:_

"_It's a trap! He switched the cards!"_

_A rather invasive body search ensues, something I would most definitely consider unnecessary considering the point of the argument. They don't find what they're looking for, apparently, as Enigmar suddenly picks up the bottle of grape juice Wright had been hauling around with him all night and smacks the frightened waitress across the face with it. She immediately crumples to the ground and for a second I wonder if he had killed her. The thought is fleeting, though, as something more important comes to mind. Wright leaves the room in a hurry and suddenly there are no witnesses to what I'm now capable of doing._

_There is no wall separating the cabinet and the passage, so I'm able to slowly move it to the left and allow myself through. It's a few seconds before Enigmar turns around in his swivel chair, but it's just enough time to reach over for the bottle on the floor he just used to hit the waitress. _

_When he does turn around, the look on his face is much different than it had been when he'd spotted me in the hall earlier. He looks rather anxious and I'm smirking and it's enough to make me drop the bottle and run right back where I came from; our roles are reversed._

_But I don't hesitate at all._

_He sees the bottle in my hand and understands what I want to do. He even tries to raise his hands to shield his face from the blow but there's nothing to save him at this point._

"_You lose."_

_I bring the thick glass down on his head as hard as I can possibly manage and recoil slightly at the sound it makes when it connects with the skin. The bottle has cracked slightly and there's blood pouring down the back of his head and the waitress is starting to make sounds but all of this is irrelevant because the only thing I can manage to do is grasp the corner of the wall to stop my laughing. It's absolutely maddening, but I laugh as I wipe up the blood and remove the ace that now has a red stain on it. I replace it with a random one from the floor and suddenly I'm laughing harder because the card I'm holding is the Ace of Spades._

_I spin him around in his chair and take the bottle with me as I sprint down the passageway to retrieve a new one. It's even less difficult than I'd hoped and I switch the bottle with another empty one under Wright's piano bench. _

_I run back to put the bottle in the Hydeout when I realize how this is going to look for Wright. _

"_Well," I whisper quietly to the waitress's stirring form on the floor, "I hope you'll be so kind as to sacrifice your freedom for my friend." _

_My laughing had turned to something more like hyperventilating but the grin is there nonetheless._


End file.
